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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



FIGURES AND FLOWERS 



FOR 



SERIOUS SOULS 



BY 



LAURA HOPE FISHER 



Thus, when noiseless and unknown 
I have lived out all my span, 
Let me die, without a groan. 
An old honest countryman." 

Seneca. 



author's edition. 



"APR 11 1888 .^ 



BUFFALO 
MOULTON, WENBORNE & CO 

1888 






COPYRIGHT, 1887. 
LAURA HOPE FISHER. 



FIGURES AND FLOWERS FOR 
SERIOUS .^;OULS. 



CONTENTS 



Accentuation, 

Addition in Kent, 

Afternoon , 

Analysis, 

Annuities, 

At the End of the Phiy, 

Books, 

Bunch of Roses, A, 

By Hook or Crook, 

Cancellation, 

Command and Service, 

Compulsory Education, 

Creeds, 

Cynic's Alphabet, The, 

Darkness, 

Days of Grace, . 

Decimals, 

Division, 

Dusk, 

Evolution, . 

Exchange, 

Flovs^er-de-Lucc, 

Ghosts, 



109 
1 1 
90 

99 
90 

61 

134 
76 

120 
45 
53 
39 
93 
34 
53 

107 

149 
28 

107 
92 

100 
H8 

III 



Hearts and Complexions, 

Hearts and Diamonds, 

Hyacinths, 

Immortelles, 

Korn, 

Multiplication, 

Musical Festival.^, 

Ne Plus Ultra, 

New Minister, The, 

New Post Office, The, 

Numeration, 

Partial Payments, 

Problems in Interest, 

Profit and Loss, 

Sensitive Plants, 

Strikes, 

Subtraction, 

Suitable Stor} , A, 

Summer Days, 

Superlatives, 

Tip up Your Bowl, 

To-morrow, c 

Violets, 

« Wanted," . 



133 
H3 
155 
132 

125 
20 

137 
54 
6S 
16 

9 
83 
76 

144 
16 

128 

19 

55 
81 

44 

75 
119 

38 
66 



NUMERATION. 



"Madison, I have come over to see 

What in the vs^orld you're a goin' to be, 

Now you've got home with your college degree!" 

Uncle Perander leaned back in his chair, 
And tilting his chin up high in the air — 
"Madison, if I was you, I declare 

"I wouldn't be a Doctor! It ain't humane, 
Stoj^pin' a man near the end of the lane 
And bringin' him back into trouble and pain. 

"Don't be a Lawyer! They're common as flies, 
(And about as well stocked in the matter of eyes). 
A Lawyer's a man with a talent for — lies. 

"Don't be an Architect, a feller that dines 
And sups on figures, dimensions and lines, 
A man whose brains have all run to designs. 

"I wouldn't be a Parson, if I was you! 
Saltin' down sermons to keep 'em new 
Is rather a ticklish thing to do. 

"I wouldn't be a Teacher! Steer clear, of them! 
They've got so much wisdom (I call it phlegm) 
They'll talk you to death— a real A. M. 
9 



'I wouldn't be a Merchant, country or town! 

If you ain't a boss swimmer, you're sure to go 

down. 
A Merchant's a man mighty easy to drown. 

"A Manufacturer? He pays his bills 

When he's obliged — as a man takes his pills — 

And cares much less for his men than his mills. 

"I wouldn't be a Botanist, no-sir-ree! 

He is a man with a facultee 

For callin' a two-foot herb a tree, 

"And vice-versa. Take my advice. 

And don't be a Farmer. 'Taint at all nice, 

Workin' like beavers and livin' like mice. 

"Don't you step into an Editor's shoes! 
It. ain't edify in', say what you choQse, 
Writin' romances and callin' it news. 

"I wouldn't be a Lecturer, all nose and ears, 
And no voice to speak of that any one hears. 
And arms that run wild as a pair of young steers. 

"Don't be an Astronomer, lettin' time pass. 

And you at one end of a Telescope glass 

A watchin' the cows in the moon eatin' grass. 

"Don't be a Poet! A man with a soul 

Strugglin' for some impossible goal : 

You can't reach his thoughts with a ten-mile pole. 

lO 



''I wouldn't be a Painter, water or ilc! 
When pictures won't sell, potaters won't bile, 
And the source of your income's obscure as — the 
Nile. 

"Listen, my boy, you've got your degree, 
And I have dropped over expressly to see 
What 3'Ou're a steerin' for. Listen to me! 

"There is one perfession, simple and grand ! 
Be a man^ Madison ! I understand 
There's a small supply, with a big demand." 

ADDITION IN KENT. 



"Bless you! I have had chances in plenty," 

Laughed Destiny Dent. 
"Jest sit down, and I'll tell you about 'cm. 

While I finish my stent 
A sewin' three strips of mattin' together! 
Ain't this a wonderful spell of weather. 

The Lord has sent? 

"Look! that apple-tree's thinkin' of buddin', 

There by the gate! 
O! you're a waitin' to hear the story? 

It ain't any great — 
How many chances'^. I'm i^oor In addition, 
But bein' a teacher, you're in a condition 

To add 'em up straight. 
II 



"I was a pretty girl when I was twenty, 

And good at a stent. 
Smart girls alius have lovers a plenty, 

(They do in Kent). 
And my first beau was a great satisfaction, 
Yes, and I loved him almost to distraction!" 

Sighed Destiny Dent. 

"Handsome's a picture, and bright as a dollar. 

Was Gideon Snow. 
Whatever he said t'was the fashion to f oiler, — 

The girls, you know. 
But I wan't cut by that pattern, I reckon. 
To stand a waitin' for him to beckon 

Me which way to go. 

"But one long summer we chirped together. 

Like birds on a fence; 
Such wonderful dreams and such wonderful 
weather 

I've never had sence. 
But he was so sure that no girl could refuse him, 
I had to say 'no', and just disabuse him. 

And learn him some sense. 

"What did he do? Why, his heart was quite 
broken, 

As lovers' hearts do 
Break. And he married another in token 

That this was true — 
A girl that was waitin' and willin' to foUer 



All through the world. . . . But my world 
was holler 

A year or two! 

"P'raps I was foolish and obstinate rather," 

Sighed Destiny Dent, 
"But wisdom and youth never did go together, 

(At least, not in Kent), 
And takin' care of your father and mother 
Is better than nussin' somebody or other 

The Lord hain't sent! 

"Five years more, and I had m,y next offer, 

A widower, too! 
Sober and steady, and pretty forehanded. 

And honest clear through. 
But I alius had said that a man or a woman 
Wantin' to marry again was inhuman — 

I didn't care who. 

"It never would do to go back on my word, and 

I said what I meant 
When I rejected instead of accepted," 

Said Destiny Dent, 
"But really I've found there's a good many 

women 
Will marry a widower, sin or no sinnin' — 

(They do in Kent). 

"Well, I loved him, and no mistakin,' 
'Twas a mighty hard blow. 
13 



What in the world kept my poor heart from 
breakin', 

I'm sure I don't know, 
Unless it was workin' out here in the weather, 
Weedin' and hoein' for weeks together. 
And seein' thing's gfrovv. 

"Yes, that man had a spell of the fever. 

As sure as you're born ! 
Reco\ered, and married my own cousin Eva— 

And I lived on. 
I guess there were years I couldn't bear to name 

him, 
Though I hadn't any reason to blame him 

If I was forlorn. 

"Somebody said they didn't live happy, 

Whatever they meant, 
I hope there wan't any truth in the story,"" 

Said Destiny Dent. 
"Well, I got over my bitterest grie^•in' 
And thinkin' the world wasn't worth the believin', 

(Especially Kent). 

"The years went on. And then one September 

My next chance came. 
He was a widower, too, I remembc". 

Bore a good name. 
Had a considerable property by him. 
At first I was timid and wouldn't gq nigh him. 

A queer sort of shame 
14 



"Used to possess me whenever I met him, 

Whatever It meant. 
But the dear fellow wouldn't let me forget him. 

Wherever I went 
He would go too. He was just like my shadder, 
Wasn't it sad? But it might have been sadder," 

Laughed Destiny Dent. 

"Because — because — last w^eek it all ended. 

He asked me — don't tell. 
I had to accept him, for I couldn't reject him; 

And it don't work well. 
For in any extent a man will marry, 
(The same's in addition, there's alius to carr)-) 

After a spell. 

"And he won't wait. Men are in such a hurry," 

Laughed Destiny Dent. 
And nothin' prevent! n', we're goin' to marr}- 

Sometime in Lent. 
Yes, he's a widower, son and a daughter, 
I shall look after them just as I'd orter, 

And live in Kent, 

"'Have I forgotten the others?' you ask me. 

Dear me, don't you know? 
The first and the second, and third of my lovers 

Was — Gideon Snow. 
Yes indeed ! I have had chances in plentv, 

(And all in Kent). 
Love him'? The same as when I was twenty!" 

Cried Destiny Dent. 
15 



Somebody laughed, and a great tall fellow 

Came up without word, 
And ki&sed her as if there was nobody looking - 

"Darling, I heard." — 
"But you never should kiss me without my per 
mission," 

Cried Destiny Dent. 
Said he, "I'm footing this sum in addition 

By the rule in Kent." 

:o: 



SENSITIVE PLANTS. 



There was once an old Philosopher — 
As a matter of course he lived in Greece — 
Of most excellent life, a hater of strife 
And tumult; indeed such a lover of peace 
He avoided the streets when the weather was dry, 
And the querulous earth had a good deal of crusty 
Saying: "The World has a sensitive eye, — 
We must be careful and not raise the dust." 
:o: 



THE NEW POST OFFICE. 



Jimtown! Do you know the spot? 

Ever been that way ? 
Well, the town is just red-hot! 

And this is what's to pay — 
The government's engaged to build 

A new post-office. See? 
The contract's sure to be fulfilled 

As soon's we can agree 
i6 



Where to lay the corner-stone. 

It is the strangest thing, 
But all the Jimtown folks have grown 

So fond of arguin'. 
S'ome want the structure on a hill 

And some 'way on the flat; 
Some say the Common fills the hill, 

But others scoff at that. 

"That's sacred to the poor," one says, 

"A breathin'-place in all 
The workin'-people's holidays," 

(Whose rooms are close and small 
And ruther void of oxygen) — 

Whatever that may be? 
Perhaps its somethin' workin'-men 

Need much as you and me. 

Black says he'll sell that corner-lot 

Of his on Russell Square; 
And that's the only fittin' spot 

He knows of anywhere. 
Twenty dollars the square foot 

He asks. He'd think it finer 
To sell it by the cubic foot 

And sell 'way down to China. 

Reed's partial to the Ark street site, 
Because there's lots of space; 

And he declares it's no ways right 
To pull down and efface 
17 



A bulldin' that has stood for years, 

To put another up. 
He's level-headed It appears, 

Jim Reed knows what is what. 

Stone wants it on them Lincoln grounds, 

Four hundred feet in air. 
He says the people of three towns 

Can see it if it's there. 
If Jimtown folks had wings, says Griggs, 

That place'd suit to a T. 
But as they've nothin' better'n legs. 

One town will do for three. 

I, myself, am a Jimtown man. 

And I've got this to say — 
Guess you know that strip of land 

Of mine, out Auburn way? 
Taters won't grow^ there, or corn; 

No crop the season brings. 
Splendid land, as sure's you're born! 

But made for greater things! 

It ain't so very central, 

It ain't so very high, 
(I mean above sea-level), 

It ain't so very dry. 
It ain't so near the station — 

Look here! This is my plan: 
You can't please all creation. 

You needn't think you can. 
iS 



Put It there, and you depend, 

That all the world'U agree 
In railin' at the government, 

And ridiculin' me. 
I'll sell it at a bargain. 

Splendid piece of ground! 
And if one man is suited 

I'll give it to the town! 



:o :- 



SUBTRACTION. 



You have had your dreams — they arc past. 

You have had your hopes — they have fled. 
You have had shining thoughts — overcast. 

You have had your friends — they are dead. 
But one star is left in your sky, 

One narrow way for your feet — 
You shall not grow faint and die, 

You must live your life complete. 

'Tw^as a beautiful, blossoming land 

At first — you will never forget — 
Until vSorrow touched your hand. 

Alas! Three times have you met. 
You have loved all beautiful things, 

And lost them, one by one. 
Your dreams— they have taken them wings - 

You must live till your day is done. 
19 



The way that you walk is winding and narrow. 

What matter? Beyond is the Sen, 
Whence, perchance, on some ha^DjDy to-morrow 

A boat shall sail swiftly for thee 
And bear thee away, without asking, from Sorrow 

And Shadow and Sin and Strife, 
For the vSea is wide as the earth is narrow. 

The Sea of Immortal Life. 



MULTIPLICATION. 



Paring red apples and chewing sweet-flag 
In the last of the August weather. 

(Quaint little women, and shy — Widow Krag 
And her sister, the Widow Kcther, 
Paring red apples together 
In the last of the August weather. 

Said Widow Kether to Widow Krag — 

"Ain't it a pity that woman 
Is limited so, like a cat in a bag? 

Yes, from the very beginnin'! 

Braidin' and weavin' and spinnin'. 

And everlastin'ly skinnin'? 

"A man kin arn money hand over hand, 
A fishin' or farmin' or storin 

But a woman, that's quicker ter onderstand, 
Has ter keep parin' and corin' 
And patchin' and darnin' and chorin' 
Clear through ter the end ov her scorin'. 

20 



"We manage ter keep the old roof 'bove our head 
And jest arn our clothes and our keepin' 

(With one Httle cow in the tumble-down shed) 
We hardly have time fer our eatin', 
We never have time fer real sleepin' — 
Hannah, that apple's a sweetin'! 

"Hannah, I'm tired ov livin' like this; 

Not so much livin' as bcarift' ! 
Life is a sort of a hit-and-a-miss. 

And twists like a red applc-parin'. 

Hannah, livin' is wearin'! 

Don't look at me's if I was swearin'! 

"Don't ye remember them beautiful words 

Ov the Parson about salvation? 
I'm goin' ter work out my own, as the birds 

Fly from the cold and starvation. 

Poverty ain't consecration, 

Accordin' to my calculation. 

"We ain't any better fer bein' too poor 

Ter git ahead ov the bakin', 
And sewin' right inter the night, I am sure, 

Don't sweeten our tempers fer wakin'! 

Commandments? I ain't a breakin' 

Any! I'm only a statin'! 

"A caliker gownd is all well enough. 

At least, in the summery weather. 
But it is 'bleged tu be made ov sea-goin' stuff 

21 



Ter manage ter hold together 
Four years! And mine is rather 
A wearin'!" laughed Widow Kether. 

"Once on a time my shoe had a sole, 

But it's ben a losin' and losin' 
And thinnin' and thinnin' down ter a hole 

In a way that ain't so amoosin'. 

Cheap shoes is none of my choosin'. 

A sole zvori't stand much aboosi/i' ! 

"Hannah, the figgerin' I've got ter do 

Next, is in multiplication: 
Subtractin', subtractin' the hull way through 

Ain't anybody's salvation ! 

A woman's too good for starvation, 

Accordin' ter my calculation. 

"Fishin' that ain't quite so common, on land, 
And stoi'in' looks rather alarmin'. 

The only thing that I harf onderstand — 
Hannah, ye hear me ? — is farm in'. 
'Tain't any harder than darnin'. 
And a plaguey sight more calmin'I 

"I ain't so stout as some women, I know; 

Econermizin' is thinnin.' 
But thar ain't any reason why taters should grow 

Better fer men than fer women. 

Hoein' ain't harder than spinnin', 

Arter ye've made a beginnin'! 

23 



"I've fixed on that piece at the foot of the hill, 

(The covv'U miss the grass and the rovven), 
Corn, heans and pease'U fill out the bill. 

This fall I will set 'em a plowin'. 

I'll manage ter keep the poor cow in 

Suthin' ter eat, I'm allowin'! 

"Sam Smith, he'll kerry my garden stuff. 

He's alius accommerdatin'. 
They'll find a market easy enough, 

Onless I am kinder mistakin'. 

Farmin's invigoratin'! 

A tonic keeps women from breakin'. 

"Hannah, ye needn't answer a word! 

It's either drownin' or swimmin'. 
If women wdio hoe and mow is absurd, 

I'll have ter be one ov them women. 

Livin' by scrimpin' and skinnin' 

Is awfully wearin' and thinnin'! 

'•'■W/iat zuill our km-pcople say? What they 
please. 

They never were backward in sayin' — 
I'll sell 'em my corn and my beans and my pease. 

They're pretty good folks at payin'. 

I can't afford ter be play in' 

At pride, whatever they're sayin'. 

"The rich, I allow, is jest like the poor. 

And all ov my talk ov achievin' 
They'll take ter be nothin' but chaff, ter be sure — 
23 



But seein', ye know, is believin'. 
And I hain't no occasion fer grievin' 
Onless — corn and beans is deceivin'. 

"Widders is apt ter be fond of the men, 
A kind ov nateral leanin'; 

But I 'low thar's a widder found now and then ; 
Without any time fer sech dreamin.' 
Hannah, the men is well meanin' 
Enough — ye're j^'^^'ii^' ^ greenin'! 

"Hannah, now I don't mean ter complain 
Ov anything in creation. 

A woman with any kind ov a brain, 
Accordin' ter my calculation. 
Kin make her own repertation 
If she's good at — multiplication. 

"Increasin' the little I hai^pen ter own 

Is a practical multiplyin'; 
And the answer ter 'corn and beans' '11 be shown 

Only by keerfully tryin'. 

Hannah, no use in replyin', 

Livin' like this is — dyin'." 

The shy little woman of "limited means," 
Resolute Widow Kether, 

Planted her corn and her pease and her beans. . . 
In the late October weather. 
The shy little Widow Kether 
Had a hundred dollars together. 
24 



Her neighbor, Sam Smith, came over one day 
On some petty errand or other. 

Said Widow Kether — "Farmin' does pay. 
But, Sam, it is tiresome, riither! 
You've helped me just Hke a brother. 
So kind!" said the Widow Kether. 

Now Sam had come over to ask about beans. 
But he found himself replying — 

"Kate, ye're a widder ov limited means. 
But smarter than anythin' flyinM 
A woman not given ter cryin', 
But better at multiply in'. 

"Soosan, my wife, has been buried seven year^ 
Dear, good woman was Soosan. 

But it stands ter reason she can't be here 
Any more. And I am a losin'! 
A widderer's life ain't amoosin'. 
And not a mite ter my choosin'! 

"Supposin' we jine our fortunes, Kale, 
Afore another hoein'? 

Fer I'm thirty-two and yew're twenty-eight. 
Both ov us clean through a growin', 
Katie, and we've been a knowin' 
Each other fer five years a goin'! 

"I ain't precisely the harnsomest man," 

He said, in a laughing humor; 
"But the hand I offer's an honest hand, 
25 



Katie — at least, that's the rumor — 
If I hain't so much of a bloomer; 
And my house is a big twenty-roomer, 

"And needs the care of a woman like yew, 

Capable, spry and trusty. 
Katie, the house is as good as new — 

But the livin'-rooms are dusty. 

The spare-rooms are awfully musty ; 

And Katie, I'm gittin' so — rusty." 

Widow Kether was pondering now — 
Possibly, too, was a praying — 

"Sam Smith, what will become of my cow? 
Sister and me was jest sayin', 
If the cowM git along without hayin' 
My fiirmin' would really be payin'." 

"Katie Kether," lauglied Sam, "I guess 
Yer cow is as light as a feather. 

But I'll feed her on clover ter hear ye say 'yes,' 
And cherish ye both together. 
And cows are fond ov me, rether. 
More than the women, Kate Kether." 

"But what will become ov my poor Hannah 
Jane?" 

Cried Widow Kether a smiling — 
"She'll go with yew and the cow, that is plain 
Ter help keep my house from a spilin'. 
Katie," he laughed, "ye're beguilin', 
I guess ye mean 'ves' by yer smilin'." 
26 



"Sam," with her hand in his own hard pahn, 

"I'm not very good at refoosin'; 
But corn and beans turn out well on my farm. 

And farmin' is really amoosin'; 

But my little cow is a loosin'! 

I ain't the one ter be choosin'! 

"Go and ask //^r," laughed Kate, "in the barn — 
She's a reasonin' creetur — 

Whether I'll bide on my own little farm? 

And Sam," with a smile even sweeter, 
"Mind that ye don't try ter cheat her, 
She's such a soft-hearted creetur." 

Before it was time for planting again, 

Or thinking of making' beginning, 

Katie had married the dearest of men, 
And Sam the dearest of women, 
( For the cow, having pondered it over, 
Preferred Sam's farm and the clover). 

The years rolled by, a dozen about, 

According to my calculation, 
When, passing Smith's door eight children rushed 
out; 

A clamorous delegation, 

A Kethcr-and-Smith combination — 

Her answer in multiplication. 



27 



DIVISION. 



"Parson, where shall I send my son 

To College, ye know, in the Fall ? 

It's Saturday night, an' my. milkin' done, 

Thought I'd make ye a neighborly call. 

Me an' my wife don't seem to be one. 
She's contrary as sin an' all! 

"Women is kinder rigid an' set, 

Detarmined they won't understan'; 

They sorter look over an' sorter forgit 
What's easy, enough fer a man. 

Wife's the best creetur I ever see yit, 

But she ain't quite as meek as a — lamb.'* 

Gentle and wise was the minister's face; 

He was ready to talk or to hear — 
"Farmer, our wives need a good deal of grace 

To balance our wit, I fear. 
Sending your son to College.^ What place? 



Will he enter the comin^r vear 



ji' 



'^Y-e-s, in September," the farmer went on. 
"We lighted on Harvard at fust; 

But Wife, — I dunno' as she's fur from wrong- 
Declared that Skewl was the wust; 

She had a nevy a stoodent along 

At Harvard — went off on a bust. 
28 



"Spoke about Amherst, Soosan an' me, 

Felt purty sure fer a spell, 
Then Wife, she remembered a Barnum McGee 

Stedied thar, turned out not so well — 
Cashier of a bank in our county, yc see; 

Sorter defalcated, — fell." 

A smile from the parson that turned to a laugh. 

Said the farmer, "We talked about Yale, 
But Soosan said that a cow or a carf 

Smart enough to kick over a pail. 
Was better in spellin' at least by a harf 

Than any stoodent at Yale. 

"Next it were Bowdoin I had in my mind. 
She said that was wuss than the rest, 

That it ruther excelled in laggin' behind, 

'They didn't steddy Hist'ry,' she guessed. 

Wife's harf-brother went thar, an' resigned — 
College expelled him, I guess. 

" Arter a while, we got round to Cornell, 
Stuck thar fer a fortnit or more. 

But Soosan remembered arter a spell 

What had slipped from her reck'nin' afore- 

The gals is admitted, that's what they tell, 
Queer institushun, that's sure!" 

A laugh from the parson, but never a word. 

"Then we lighted on Michigin, 
But Wife had a cousin, a second or third, 
29 



Went thai". And he want worth a pin; 
Took arter his father, no account as a bird, 
Idle an' triflin', as sin. 

"An' parson, we talked about Princeton, too. 

It's handier, nearer to hum. 
But Soosan she said that never would do. 

That old Deacon Thoroughwort's son. 
What took a degree thar in seventy-two. 

Took to prison in eighty-one. 

"Colleges got to be skurce, arter that. 

That me an' my wife knowed about. 

Parson, my jedgment is weak as a cat's! 
Me an' my wife is played out. 

I really doxi't know what I be drivin' at! 
I'm sorter gone up the spout! 

"An' Parson, I guess we'll leave it to you. 

A minister knows a heap, 
Readin' an writin' as much as ye do. 

An' gittin' your nateral sleep. 
I've money enough to see my son through. 

Needn't look for a skewl that is cheap. 

'Willin' to do my best for my son; 

But it's strainin', it must be confessed. 
An' me an' my wife don't seem to be one; 

She's Qowtraxy like all of the rest 
Of the women. Parson, I never sec one 

Want conceited as all-possessed!" 
30 



The farmer had finished. The parson arose, 
And pacing the floor, began — 

"Your son is a fellow wherever he goes. 
Is sure to do all that he can. 

A promising boy. But God only knows 
The latent power in a man. 

"There are schools without number, accessible, too. 
Where boys may graduate fjien. 

With simply a definite purpose in view. 
One talent increases to ten. 

But the college that's best for your son, and for you. 
Let us discover it, then ! 

"Send him to Harvard for Languages, Art; 

For Science and Greek to Yale; 
Michigan gives Mathematics the start. 

And in History does not fail. 
Princeton educates mind and heart 

On evenly -balancing scale. 

"In Declamation and advanced Greek 

Amherst is sure to excel ; 
For German or French, to write or to speak. 

Try Harvard again, or Cornell. 
Brown University's good as you'll meet. 

To learn Natural History well." 

The farmer looked puzzled and presently said: 

"But how is a feller to choose? 
I'll leave it to yew, ye've got a long head, 
31 



Like the Levites among the Jews. 
Me an' my wife, though purty well-read, 
Ain't up in the College news." — 

"Farmer," the minister gravely replied. 

We'll strike for the head of the nail. 

If you want your boy thorough and earnest beside 
Send him by all means to Yale. 

For patience and temper of steel well-tried, 
Amherst stands high in the scale. 

"The Harvard graduate's full and exact; 

Williams', well-balanced and fair; 
Michigan, Farmer, is sure and direct; 

Dartmouth, independent and square — 
A difficult question to answer, in fact; 

We'll make it the subject of prayer," . . . 

"And what are your ultimate aims for your son?" 

The parson said after a space. 
"When with Science and Latin and Greek he is 
done. 

What for the end of the race? 
The farmer's vocation's an excellent one — 

Will your boy fill his father's place?" 

He flushed all over his weather-worn face, 
The farmer, before his reply — 

"Parson, a farm ain't precisely the place 
Fer a boy eddicated so high ! 

Farmifi' I I guess it would sorter erase 
His Latin an' Greek by-an'-by! 
32 



'■^Paj-jjibP ! I tell ye, a boy like my son,'* 

• And he rose from his chair with a jerk, 
He shan't git his livin' 's his father has done, 

Layin' walls, an' a shovellin' dirt. 
Farmhi' ! Parson, now don't ye make fun! 

He's fitted fer 'up stairs' work. 

^^I^armiTi' ! I guess ye don't quite onderstand 
What I'm drivin' at!" raising his chin. 

"My son is a goin' to make a great man. 
He's the brain, an' I've got the tin. 

Parson! that's 'bout the lay of the land! 
Pshaw! what a fool I'd ha' been, 

'To send him to College fer Greek an' all that 
An' jump back in the farmer's skin. 

He's a goin' to wear a senator's hat. 
That is the race he will win. 

Me an' my wife are as sure of that 
As we are of original sin. 

"Soosan's con/rary, as all women be, 

An' alius a takin' her stan'. 
But she knows genius as fur 's she kin see. 

An' our son's got the genooine brand. 
We're agreed on that, as firm as you be 

On the fore-ordination of man." 

Moral — In choosing a school for your son. 
If your wife has a mind fully-grown, 
(A desirable thing in the general run) 
33 



It were better to •••go it alone." 
Tell her your mijtd^ when the thing is all done, 
And she'll give you a piece of her own. 

And the moral for parsons, and all of the clan 

Of advisers, this is the sum : 
Never expect that the average man 

Sees the average boy in his son ! 
Believe me, he sees what no other can — 
What he might have becn^ had Fate yN\\\<id^ao-reat 

man. 

:o: 

THE CYNIC'vS ALPHABET. 



A stands for Affability, a ladder for small men, 
By which they climb to prominence — and then 
fall back again. 

Benevolence begins with B, a Bag of pounds and 

pence; 
For church or college are the pounds, for starving 

men the cents. 

And that is Benevolence! 

C stands for Curiosity, and stands for Camel, too; 
Who tries to look all ways at once, will break his 
neck in two. 

D stands for Diligence, and so it stands for Dic- 
tionary, 
And both have bindings rather dull, and quite ex- 
traordinary 

Ways of spelling, very. 
34 



Enthusiasm starts with E, an Eagle of rash wing, 
Who wheels and circles 'hove the sea until he 
tumbles in. 

F stands for Friendship — and for Fool — a ring 

that has no end, 
Until it breaks; a perfect flower, until it fades. De_ 

pend. 

That's Friendship, O, my friend! 

G stands for Gratitude, say you? A Goose with 

lifted head 
And strident voice that follows you, expecting to 

be fed. 

Happiness begins with H — and Honor more or 

less — 
A precious stone you sometimes see another jnan 

possess. 

And that is Happiness. 

I is for Ingenuousness, a shining chain of gold. 
Children wear it for a time — and lose it, I am told. 

Justice is a sounding word, but obsolete to-day; 
Something I have never heard or recognized my 



way. 



Justice begins with J. 

K stands for Kindness and for Kill. They use it 

in that way 
With great effect — a sugared pill once every other 

day. 

35 



L stands for Liberty, — a Lion wild and strong and 

free, 
Who cannot breathe and live in chains. And so 

the people flee. 

And that is Liberty. 

Magnanimity is fine. A Mule of tender heart, 
(Who threw his rider every time till harnessed in 
a cart). 

Necessity begins with N, and stands for concerts, 

tea; 
Whatever one sees other men are using rather free- 
That's a Necessity. 

Obstinacy with O's begun, and so is Owl, indeed. 
One has big eyes, the other none ; and neither, any 
creed. 

P stands for Perseverance, also Peter Piper. 
The two words are synonymous as near as I can 
cipher. 

(Such "pears" couldn't be riper.) 

Quality begins with Q. That's all I know about it. 
Except — men of "no quality" are just as well, 
without it. 

R stands for Reserve, dear me! A Rose that's 

folded tight. 
Too closely for the world to see whether it's red 

or white, 

BlushiuCT out of sio^ht. 

36 



S stands for Sensibility, and so it does for Sense. 
The latter takes all in good part; the former takes 
— offence, 

In every mood and tense. 

Truthfulness begins with T; a Tune that's pitched 

so high 
Most voices fail to reach the key until they come 

to die. 

Usefulness begin:^ with U. It's being simply 
dress'd. 

And doing what you have to do with thorough- 
ness and zest. 

And that is Usefulness. 

V stands for Victory, a Vine with half its blos- 

,soms dead; 
A book with scorched and blackened leaves, and 
pictures in dull red. 

Wealth begins with W, a Will-o-the-wisp in kind. 
Weary years you may pursue, but you will never 
find. 

And that is Wealth defined. 

X stands for Xylograjo, ho, ho! Perhaps you'd 

better look. 
If you think its a word you need to know, in a 
cyclopedia book. 
37 



Yoiithfulness begins with Y, \vc recognize aj- 

sight; 
A Yeast that's full of rising energy and life and 

light. 

Z stands for Zeal and Zero too. One's cold, and 

one is not. 
A man of Zeal is apt to feel that the world would 

go "to pot" 
If but himself were laid on the shelf. And that is 

Zeal, red hot. 



VIOLETS. 



A little maid with a little laugh — 

And something lost — 
Too funny and sunny and wise by half, 

Is Violet Frost. 

"She loses her bonnet, her aj^ron, her shears," 
Said Grandmother Frost — 

"Darling, your eyes or your nose or your ears 
Next will be lost." 

Sunday morning she carried to church — 

To keep her awake 
With a dozen good smells in sermon-time — 

Her flower-namesake. 

But — O! have I said she'd a cold in her heacP. 

Such tears as arose! 
Grandmother Frost, I have lost — I have lost— 

I have lost my nose!" 
38 



COMPULSORY EDUCATION. 



They lived on the edge of the town, 

Matildy and Tim. 
The farmer, he looked rather "down," 

I mean, for him. 
"Wife, I feel some like a fool! 
The State has been passin' a rool, 
Compellin' ter go ter school. 

Ter- night they begin. 

"Ye're forty, and I'm forty-one, 

Clean out o' date. 
Our school in' had orter be done. 

I tell ye, the State 
Is a queerish kind ov a chap 
Ter be layin' out any sech map. 
Legerslation is flat, 
I calkerlate! 

"An evenin' school, do ye hear? 

That makes it the wuss. 
Tildy, I reckin its queer 

That poor folks like us 
Has got ter be kept out o' bed. 
And a goin' ter school instead. 
When a State is clean out of its head 

Am't it a muss? 
39 



"A body is bleeged ter go — 

Tildy, ye hear? — 
That is over fifteen or below 

Forty-five year. 
What do they steddy? I vumi 
Everything under the sun. 
But at forty or forty-one, 

Wife, ye don't kecr 

Ter pester with Latin or Greek, 

Or any sich stuff. 
Ve''re qualerfied, so ter speak 

In branches enough — 
Milkin' the cows and a hoein', 
Ploughin' and seechn' and mowin'', 
And keepin' the hum-stead a goin' — 

And I say, it's enough. 

" Wife, the okl time was the best. 

When we was young; 
And brains had occasiun ter rest. 

As well as the tongue. 
It stands ter reason, that's so. 
That brains all the time on the go, 
Not any r<3cess, ye know. 

Will git onstrung. 

" My head is screwed on purty tight, 

Taint easy ter turn. 
But a goin' ter school ev'ry night 

Ter a female, ter learn 
40 



Ter tell a verb from a noun, 
And how many guineas 'n a poun', 
Would turn my head clean round 
As well as hern ! 

" My eye-sight haint failed, not a bit, 
And I'm forty-one year. 

I've got a good deal o' grit, 
Tildy my dear. 

But a tryin' to spell in Greek, 

It'd take a power ov cheek, 

Like sw'arin' at oxen a week. 
Greek is so queer. 

" Yes! and a learnin' ter draw 

Flowers and sich. 
Would set me on edge like a saw 

When it dont hitch. 
High sort o' cultur, they say. 
But drawin' and paintin' dont jDay 
For a man that works out by the day, 

And knows which from which. 

" Morals and manners come in 
Ter be taught with the rest. 

My morals is straight as a pin. 
As good as the best. 

But manners! I cant make a bow 

Nothin' so well, I allow, 

As a first-class boardin'-school cow, 
And I aint self-possessed. 
41 



" Ye see, workin' out by the day 

Aint exactly dersigned 
Ter limber yer jints, any way. 

It's ruther inclined 
Ter give ye a crick in yer back 
And double ye up like a jack. 
And a bow when ye're feelin' like that 

Would be ofoin' it blind. 



is 



"Jography, I hev been through, 

Beginnin' ter end, — 
As if that was anything new! 

And I dont intend 
Ter read that agin, onderstand ? 
About Boston and Afginerstan, 
And Cleveland and BcUerchistan ; 

And whar they extend. 

" I'd hev ter Tarn over agin 
The notes on the starf. 
I forgit jest how they begin. 

And the latter harf 
I never got really by heart. 
But if somebody'd give me the start, 
I guess I could do my part, — 
If nobody'd larf. 

Spellin' were handy ter nie 

As a mouse ter a cat. 

But rakin' and pitchin, ye see, 

Aint a favorin' that. 

42 



Thar's a number of words I kin spell 
Purty passably well, 
With only an extra L 
Or a T, as in ratt. 

" Writin', I'm A number one. 

With plenty of ink, 
And a pen that is sure as a gun 

Not ter git in a kink, 
I kin write like a book-keepi^i' clerk. 
Writin' aint any more work 
Ter me than a changin' my shirt. 

Easy enough, I think. 



" Larnin' is good in its place 

And time o' day. 
But ye cant make a beautiful vase 

Out o' common clay. 
I'm oldish, and I've larned enough. 
And Latin and Greek and that stuff 
Is jest like a takin' o' snuff — 

It dont pay. 

"Wife, I shall hev ter be druv, 

Ter git me ter school. 
Come evenin', I'm deeper in love 

With a bed than a rool. 
Cider? Yes, give us a swig! 
Matilda, I dont keer a fig 
For nothn'. A State is too big 

Ter act like a fool." 
43 



SUPERLATIVES. 



The silliest thing in creation — 

And common as blue-bottle flies 

Or errors in multiplication — 

Is the mortal that thinks himself wise. 

The hardest thing to my knowing, 

In a world with impossibles crossed — 

Uncommon as pearls in the mowing — 
To recover a friend once lost. 

The sweetest that life discloses, 

Exquisite, undefiled — 
And common as red and white roses — 

Is the lingering kiss of a child. 

One of the funniest phases 

Of life, if you call it " funny"— 

And common as grasses or daisies" — 
Is liking a man for his money. 

The wisest — uncommon as debtor 

That pays, or song to the swallow — 

Is the man that does better and better 
Without any critic to follow. 
44 



The saddest and happiest blende^- 

And co:r,mon as winf^s to the dove — 

Is love to pity descended, 
Or pity uplifted to love. 

The simplest — uncommon as labor 

Contented, or bread without leaven — 

To give your hand to your neighbor 

And to anchor your faith in Heaven. 



CANCELLATION. 



A TRAGEDY. 

Once upon a time and in a certain place — 
Though gazetteer or atlas may furnish y^u no trace 
Of that dim distant country, yet I will preface 
The story's true, allowing me some figurati^'e 
grace — 

There lived a man of science and generous estate 
The father had his hobbies, as likewise had his 

mate. 
They had no sons, but daughters, the number up 

to date, 
(This is authentic history) twixt twenty-four and 

eight. 

He vowed his girls should have professions, every 

one. 
For why should not a daughter be useful as a son? 
45 



What the father and the mother wished was there- 
fore done. 

The gu'ls became professionals. — My story is be- 
gun. 

Amethyst — so named for her eyes of purple blue — 
Was a great Astronomer. 'Tis claimed she knew 
Enough to put the stars in place should they fall 

out, 
And set them running, like a man — Her work 

broug-ht on the g^out. 

Betty was a Botanist, superior, I ween; 
Wrote a learned book before she was eighteen 
(And all about a plant nobody Vl e\er seen), 
Which Science's bounds enlarged — She died, en- 
largement of the spleen. 

Coral was a Chemist of very great renown. 
Discovered some new compound that blew up the 

whole town. 
Her name was thus preserved as mistress of her ar^ 
She wrote "Combining Weights" — and died, a 

rupture of the heart. 

The next m age was Daisy, a Doctor of some note 
Who made h^ir specialty Diseases of the throat. 
She likewise wrote a book on "Voice and Voca- 

lism." 
She cured and killed by turns, like me?i — and died 

of rheumatism. 
46 



Emerald turned Editor, so the story goes. 
She filled her columns full with editorial j^rose, 
Full of guns and thunder, dramatic ahs and ohs, 
With temperance thrown in — and died of cancer 
in the nose. 

The next was j^retty Flora, a Flower painter she, 

Who had a studio in Florence, Italy. 

Her master-piece was " Roses Broken from the 
Bough." 

She broke her neck, by acc'dent, — or she'd be liv- 
ing now. 

Garnet followed her — named for her hair 'tis said — 
A German translator whom everybody read. 
She even thought in German — which helped to 

take her off — 
Forgot her English, like a niaii — and died of 

whooping cough. 

Hyacinth resembled her sister. She became 

A great Historian whom all men know by name. 

.5'/^<3 never mixed up Greece and Rome — and that's 
the truth — 

She talked of Socrates — and died, cutting her wis- 
dom tooth. 

lonite, so named for the valley of her birth. 
Became an Icthyologist of weight and worth. 
She wrote a treatise, "Wings and Fins," and one 

on " Gills." 
Salmon was her favorite dish — She died of fish, 

and chills. 

47 



A Judge was Jessamine, of sterling common sen^e, 

And rather more than simply local eminence. 

She quoted Coke and Blackstone without a miss 
or blur. 

Ate heavy dinners, like a fuan — Consumption fin- 
ished her. 

Kitty she was a Kollector of some fame. 
Everything was labelled, day and year and name; 
Eggs and stones and woods, birds and bugs and flies 
And ants and worms — She died with inflammation 
of the eyes. 

Lena was a Lecturer on " Reform in Dress," 

On the "Rights and A\'rongs of Woman," more 
or less; 

Varying with talks on " Men Compared to Wea- 
sels." 

Woman of impressive speech and manners — died 
of measles. 

Millicent became a Mineralogist. 

She could tell the difference twixt shale and schist ; 

W^rote a work, nine volumes on " What Frankli- 

nite Is," 
Praised her own books, like a man — and died, 

acute bronchitis. 

A great Numismatologist, Nora, followed next. 
You must have seen her book, " Egyptian Coins" 
the text? 

48 



Contributed some facts to science, it would seem^ 
Was sick — and died of Coptic fever, whatever that 
may mean. 

Onyx was an Organist of talent and high mark. 
Her placing, with the stops out quite lit up the 

dark. 
She wrote a ''Normal Method" for the Conserv- 

ator}'-. 
And died — too much Beethoven. At least, that 

is the story. 

Pansy was a Writer in the epic vein. 

Hexameters heroic grew within her brain. 

Her volumes, bound in gold, were sought by 

learned men. 
She died, like any 7nan — and never wrote again. 

Quilla was a Quibbler, a sophist, all the same. 
Could reason with philosophers of mighty name. 
Could split a hair with judges, talk religion, law. 
Architecture, chemistry-She perished of lock-jaw. 

Ruby was a 'Rithmetician, wrote some books 
All the teachers fell in love with, "Powers" and 

"Roots"; 
Published tables of statistics, "Rates of Life and 

" Death"— 
Died of asthma at the last, a deficit in breath. 

Sula was a public Singer, famous voice. 
Twixt her notes and angels' singing you would 
have no choice. 
49 



Sang in London, Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome. 
(Skipped hotel-bills just like men) and died of 
mumps, at home. 

Thyrza was a Traveler, wrote for the " World 
and "Sun. " 

On geysers and volcanoes her thoughts did mainly 
run. 

Without a fear of earth-quake or Alpine mountain- 
slide; 

A oflacier "fot ahead of her in travel — and she died. 



Uriella was an Utopian by right, 

And wrote in Attic prose the dreams she dreamt 

at night. 
In the Blank Museum vou will find her bust — 
Erysipelas it was consigned her dust to dust. 

Violet came next, a Violinist rare. 
Happiness supreme or agonized despair 
Breathed out from her " fiddle" in the simplest way ; 
Strung some poetr}- on " Strings" — and died 
pneumonifT)/ — 

W^innie was a Writer for children's magazines, 
Fairy-tales. They paid her quite beyond their 

means, 
For nonsense is the fashion. She v/rote a book or 

two. 
Failed in business,///'^ «wa;2 and died, tic-douloureux 
50 



Xanthia the next, was a Xylographer. 
The science of engraving owed so much to her 
They raised a statue to her name beside the 

Tiber''s wave, — 
The grave fact graven on it, typhus brought her 
to the grave. 

Zinnia grew to be a great Zoologist; 
Found new insects everybody else had missed, 
Wrote a book about them argued far and wide. 
The colcoftera mourned her — she caught a cold 
and died. 

If I remember right, she was of latest birth. 
With Zinnia dead the twenty-five had perished 

from the earth. 
Pre-eminently useful, and prematurely dead — 
The mother sat in silence, the father sadly said, 

'' Old Wife, I can't help thinking a girl is some- 
thing better. 

And frailer, than the average boy. It might be 
well to let her 

Choose her own sky like the birds, and trust to 
Providence, 

That she will adorn the world with grace and 
common sense. 

"Girls of wit and beauty should steer clear of ink. 
Professions are malarial for girls, I've come to 
think. 

51 



We have had them, we have lost them, twenty-five 
But we've let the ink alone, old wife, and we're 
alive ! 

"Alive! Put what's to hinder our getting out a 

book? 
Following the path our dearest daughters took? " 
They zurote a work straightway on '^Spainh 

Disintegration ." 
Before ''tzvas published both zvere dead of Chrofiie 

Irritation. 



DARKNESS. 



The soalh wind comes and passes, the moonlight 

fills the park. 
My face is in the grasses, my soul is in the dark. 

The faint, far sea is sighing, the birds are still 

awake. 
My dearest dream is dying, my heart will surely 

break. 

The shining stars sail over, and fragrance fills the 

air. 
My face is in the clover, my soul is in despair. 

And still the soft sea sighing, and birds with rap" 

ture fired. 
My dearest dream is dy mg, and I am strangely tired ! 
52 



COMMAND AND SERVICE. 



If I could have everything my way, 
(A monarch upon a throne) 

I wouldn't have any cold places, 

I wouldn't have any thin faces; 

No carrying empty purses, 

No writing emptier verses, — 

Beg pardon, excepting my own. 

Every man would be honest, 

And every woman true; 
Practiced each in some labor, 
And practiced in loving his neighbor; 
Prompt in decision and action, 
Slow in dissension and faction, 

And in dropping the old for the new. 

If I could have everything my way, 

(And there is no good reason why) 
A promise would bind one forever. 
And Friendship endure all weather; 
And perish grim Doubt and Suspicion, 
And Envy, and Scorn, and Derision, 
The evils that multiply. 

If I could have everything my way, 

(And why should I not, pray, then?) 
53 



The world would be surely my debtor, 
The world would be certainly better; 
Better in thought and in living, 
Better in irainino- and a"ivino: — 
Better women and men. 

But first, ere I fill the position, 

(Of tyrant without reserve,) 
There's a little lame lad with a notion 
For spending a month by the ocean. 
Supposing I grant his petition. 
And take him? Supposing my mission 
Is not to command, but to serve? 



NE PLUS ULTRA. 

There are no friends like the old friends, 

There are none so true. 
There are none so loyal-hearted. 

Among the new. 

There are no friends like the old friends. 

So worthy of trust, 
So good at forgiving an error. 

So tender and just. 

Give us the old friends for mourning. 

Or laughing, together! 
There are no friends like the old friends, 

Rain or fair weather. 
54 



There are no friends like the old friends, 

As the years go on. 
God help us the rest of our journey, 



When the old friends are gone 



» " 



■:o:- 



A SUITABLE STORY. 



" I'm a goin' to sue the town," 

Said Captain Regulus White. 
"When a peaceable man goes down 

With his team in broad daylight. 
Into a hole in the groun,' 

All along of thar slight — 
Not doin' the roads up brown — 

Whv if a man is bright. 
He's obleged to sue the town 

In the cause ov jestice an' right. 



Said his father, Ichabod White, 
" I guess I'd consider it fust. 

When a miller flies into the light. 
He's purty likely to bust." 

Said Reg, " Who's afraid? Not 1. 

A man with a broken arm 
And leg; can't afford to be shv. 

A hirin' a man on my farm 
While I am a-layin' by. 

That don't work to a charm 
55 



The town must take keer, not I, 
If one on us comes to harm. 

A Captain ain't goin' to fly 
Afore thar's an}- alarm." 

Said Ichabod White, his sire, 

» Reg, I'd let it alone! 
Ye really can't play with the fire, 

If ye be a Captain grown." 

" Fire! " said the Captain bold, 

" They''ll find it considerable hot 
Afore this month's very old. 

I'm a goin' to fire my shot 
Afore my spirits git cold. 

The town has got money, a lot! 
They kin hand over a roll 

To me as easy as not. 
A man can't stand bein' ' sold ' 

Arter he's been upsot." 

The father gazed thoughtfully down — 
" Some folks step on thar own corns. 

A man ain't so strong as a town, 
Better haul in yer horns!" 

" Father, ye're prejudiced some. 

Really, tain't Christian ov you, 

Goin' aginst yer own son ! 
/'// let ye into my pew. 

Hark! when I handle that sum, 
5^ 



I'm goin' to divide it by two, 
And harf goes to you. Father, come! 

Tell me what more could I do? 
Promise me ye will keep muni, 

This thins: has got to o-o throuofh." 

" Reg," said his sire with a laugh, 

" I hain't got a real graspin' soul. 

['11 be contented with harf. 

How much will it be, the whole." 

The Captain looked signally wise. 

" Ben thinkin' it over," he said. 
" A broken-legged man that lies 

For weeks and weeks on his bed. 
Is ruther inclined to rise. 

Ye see, on the price ov his head. 
The town don't keer If he dies — 

But he won't ! They shall pay him Instead. 
T^e/i thousand's about the size 

I shall run for!" he modestly said. 

" It's a jDuttln' It purty steep," 

Said Ichabod White, with a smile. 

" Do ye think that mud-hole was deejD 
Enough to demand such a pile?" 

The Captain sat up in his bed. 

" Now, father, a man ov weight 
Like me," with a nod of the head, 

" If he dies, is a loss to the State, 
Much more to the town whar he's bred. 
57 



When it comes to a mental debate 
On the matter," he pompously said, 

" I am sure that I much under-rate 
My value. I'll make it instead 

Tzventy tJioiisaud^ sure's fate." 

Said Ichabod, " Hold up, Reg ! 

That twenty divided b}' two 
Gives ten. A mere nest-egg 

For me, to say nothin' ov you." 

The Captain dropped down on his back. 

" Now father, I guess you're awake! 
I'd orter be paid for the rack 

And tear ov my bones, an' the ache; 
For the boxes ov pills, sech a stack. 

An' the powders I've had to take; 
An' my cough, with its tiresome hack. 

Father, I guess I will make 
That twenty march up to the crack 

Ov forty. Father, let's shake." 

They shook hands, the father and son. 

" Now Reg, if you'll let me suggest, 
Now that this thing is begun — 

Fifty thousand sounds best." 

The Captain sat up with a jerk 

That cracked every bone — that was whole, 
" Ye're wakin' up to the work. 

Yew are a man with a soul 
58 



Too big for a flannel shirt. 

The town would be blind as a mole, 
An' jest as low down in the dirt, 

To balk at that sum, or to scold — 
If they did, I should really feel hurt. 

And kinder left out in the cold." 

Said Ichabod White, with a smile, 

" This is election year; 
Yer name would be wuth that pile 

In November a votin' here!" 

The Captain lay down with a snap 

That made the whole bedstead to creak 
" Father, look here! Dr. Clapp 

Sa3^s I'll be out in a week — 
If I don't have any mishap, 

Or Providence, so to speak. 
Ain't inclined to go back 

On a feller that's patient an' meek. 
Father, shake hands upon that, 

I guess I'll go off to sleep." 

" Reg," said the father, " I think 

Our fortunes is lookin' up, 
When ye're goin' to go for a drink, 

It's as well to take a quart cup." 

Seven days, and the Captain was " smart," 
For a man just out of his bed, 

Dressed, and all ready to start 

For town and the business ahead, 
59 



To give him a little more " heart," 

He looked on the wine when 'twas red, 

(Or something- that sort) and a 2:)art 

Of the something went straight to hh 
head. 

It is rather a difficult art 

To drive, thus equipped, it is said. 

The father he bade him God-speed, 
On a mission so noble and high. 
" Be firm, and ye're sure to succeed! 
Mind, Fiftv thousand! Good-bve!" 



But sad to relate, Captain White 

Never did get to the town, 
Never did claim his right 

To the Fifty Thousand down. 
To tell the truth, he was tight 

Froni the ends of his toes to his crown. 
And just as he came to the site 

Where he and his team ran aground 
• Before, he jerked to the right — 

Driver and horse went down. 

And never came up again — 

Certainly not as a whole. 
So perished the boldest of men. 

And — a horse that was thirty years old. 

They carried him home at night 

Through the forest dusky and brown 

And drear, to old Ichabod White, 
And laid him tearfully down 
60 



On his bed In the pale njoonHght. 

The father declared with a frown— 
" Defective highways is not right ! 

Before that moon has sailed round 
To the place whar she shines to-night, 
rin a goiri' to S2ie the townV 

:o: 

AT THE END OF THE PLAY. 



" Theayters an' Operys aint no good," 

Sniffed Aunt Eliza. " That's onderstood. 

Dunno's I kin tell jest whar is the sin, 

An' ye wouldn't listen if I should begin. 

"Theayters bewitches ye girls, so to speak, 

At fust ye're contented with jest once a week. 

Then twice, or three times, and then ev'ry day. 
I'm worried, ye're growin' so fond ov the play. 

"Shakespeare is moral and liftin'!" she sniffed, 
" (Even the minister gives him a lift.) 

Hamlet, I 'low, were related to him. 

And sort o' connected with Richard the King. 

"I were a reader, girls, when I were young, 
Had the big poets at the end o' my tongue. 
But raisin' twelve children, an' ten ov 'em dead, 
Ruther knocks Shakespeare out o' yer head. 

" Trouble? I reckin I've had it, a ton! 
Real live trouble ain't over an' done 
All in a minute like them on the stage — 
Girls, I am seventy, and young for my age, 
6i 



" Spite o' my trouble. An' good reason why! 
I's alius in bed 'fore the moon had clum high, 
When I were a girl. An' I riz with the sun, 
An' my cheeks was like roses till daylight were 
done." 

Sniffed Aunt Eliza — " Theayters is bad; 
A playin at bein' so solemn and sad, 
An' next thing a-goin' straight into a laugh. 
It don't look knowin' or rational, harf. 

" Merchant of Venice is fine, I allow. 

Can't remember it more than a cow; 

Suthin' or other about pound o' flesh. 

My mem'ry o' troubles and cares ain't so fresh 

" That happened in stories," she sniffed, " as my 

own. 
Troubles ye live through '11 stand out alone. 
Without a revlewin' and a rakin' 'em up — 
A kind ov a casket that won't stay shut. 

" Thar's a man in Otheller, or suthin' like that. 
So mad he dunno what he is drivin' at. 
And girls that goes to a play every night 
Haint a clear notion o' wrong or o' right, 



" Ov what ye should foller or what ye should shun 
Or anything practical under the sun. 
Ye're jest overpowered when a stage-hero dies. 
But a woman may starve right under yer eyes, 
62 



••' And ye not help her so much as a pin, 
Ye git so famihar with sorrer an' sin, 
A seein' it prance on the stage every night. 
Ye look at real trouble in jest the same light. 

" Ye're thinkin' it's suthin' that comes an' goes; 

AH yew've got to do's to sit still to the close. 

It is sad J like stage trouble, and tears have thar 

way, 
But ye sleep jest as sound at the end o' the play. 

" When tears come so easy, they ain't from the 

heart, 
Nothin' but Opety-tcars. Fer my part, 
I ruther mistrust these inundated eyes. 
But I'm an old woman, not 'specially wies. 

" Theayter's high-toned and fashionable? Yes. 
Wonderful place to display a fine dress. 
Or an elegant hat (with nothin' inside,) 
To foster yer vanity, selfishness, pride. 

'' Mind, I don't 'firm that it must come to this, 
Thar is naturs so fine that somehow they miss 
All that is poisonous, all that is base. 
But here on the airth sech angels is skase. 

" My minister says," she went on with a sigh, 
" History plays is improvin' an' high ; 
A method o' cultur, an' all o' them things, 
Refreshin' the memory — O, fiddle-strings! 
63 



" History plays, they do beat the rest 
Jest all to pieces, it must be confessed. 
But goin' to them, ye see, ain't enough. 
And harf o' the history plays is stuff. 

" If I'd twenty-five girls and twenty-five bo^-s, 
I'd stand a power o' disputin' an' noise. 
Jest to keep 'em not fur out o' sight. 
And safe in thar beds in the hush o' the night. 

" Girls, early hours is a wonderful thing 
To keep you in voices to laugh or to sing; 
But cryin' for troubles that happened in books, 
That ain't a goin' to add to yer looks. 

" Trouble? I rcckin I've had my share! 

Purty suddint and hard to bear. 

I couldn't ' look on ' in yer Opery way, 

An' I couldn't sleep much at the end o' tlie play 

" All my believin' were put to the test, 
'Twere diflicult scein' that God knew best. 
When yer own children is dyin' or dead, 
Shakespeare ruther goes out o' yer head. 

" To arnscr up hearty, ' God's will be done!' 
Under the troubles that's sure to come. 
Don't alius bring tears in the Opery way. 
Nor alius bring sleep at the end o' the play. 

" I've travelled a goodish long road, ye see. 
An' I ain't so young as I used to be; 
64 



But I know what I mean, an' I mean what I say, 
Thar ain't no good in an Opery play. 

" Thar's some folks goes so as not to be ' odd,' 
They want to look jest like the rest in the pod. 
Thar's bushels and bushels o' pods o' that kind ; 
Fair in thar faces and slim in thar mind. 

" Others '11 go jest to pass off the time, 
That is a sure an' infallible sign 
That suthin is loose or suthin is wrong, 
For time is short and eternity's long. 

" Others '11 go for the sake ov a ' friend,' 
That is a poser I can't comprehend. 
If he's really yer friend, ye kin keep him away, 
An' both '11 sleep sweet at the end o' the play. 

" A friend! What ain't thar that I wouldn't do. 
To make him more loyal, fearless an' true? 
To make him more dear to truth and to God — 
Fd be willin' to die an' put under the sod. 

" Fm warm in my feelin's as winter is cold ! 
Fm young in my heart, as my featurs is old! 
An' girls, ye are dear to my faded old eyes 
For the sake o' yer mother at rest in the skies. 

" But bless me!" she said, " I am here all alone! 

I hain't any company, 'ceptin' my own. 

They must have stepped out purty light — kerrige 

gone ! 
They're off to the theayter, sure as ye're born. 
65 



" Bless thar bright eyes ! God keep 'em from harm ! 
I'm alhis forgettin' we're not on the farm. 
Them grirls has such an affectionate wav! 
May we all meet in Heaven at the end c' the 
playy 



WANTED 



At once — A correspondent who will dot his i's, 
And write an easy hand attempting no disguise; 
Who has decided talent for not appearing wise; 

Who will spell his words not too wide of the mark ; 
Nor in style suggesting tulips in a park, — 
Rather, stately lilies shining in the dark. 

He must shunquotation in the French or Greek, 
(English should be good enough to write or speak) 
He must not write more frequently than once a week. 

He must be an honest man, of tastes refined; 
He must have a hearty love for humankind; 
He must be progressive, not too far behind 

What the world is doing; he must also know 
What the world was doing centuries ago; 
And his eyes must glisten seeing nations grow. 

He must be open-hearted, not too fond of pelf; 
He must improve his talents,not lay them on the shelf ; 
He must be fond of books — because I am myself, 

66 



I insist he must be independent, free 

From i)etty prejudice and pride; have charity 

For ignorance and all the miseries that be. 

o 

I insist he must be fearless and sincere; 
Must be his own pilot, knowing well to steer, 
And see the dangers ere too perilously near. 

lie must be fond of Nature, grasses, birds, and trees, 
Roses, little children — all his swift glance sees; 
He must be fond of sailing over the widje seas. 

I should like him tall — but he juusthQ good; 

I should like him handsome — that is understood; 

I should like him witty, mind you, if he could. 

I should like him to be fond of walking, very; 
And his manners to be more than ordinary. 
Gentle but not pliant, firm but not contrary. 

He must sometimes listen to another's speech; 
He must often question what's beyond my reach; 
And sometimes to sit and learn while others teach- 

He must use good paper, he must use good sense; 
He must never write the present for past tense; 
He must be unwilling to give, or take, offense. 

He must be industrious, the moments save; 

1 insist he must be as a soldier, brave ; 

Hark! he musthQ truthful, from cradle to the grave; 

67 



I should like him rather lenient to a debtor; 

I should like him to be always growing better — 

Will such a correspondent "answer this by letter?" 

:o: 

THE NEW MINISTER. 



"Seen our new minister? 

He's smart! 
He knows a thing or two, 

By heart. 
Queer, how he fixes me. 

Ain't it, though? 
All I kin answer is — 

'Idunno.' 

"Caught me one Sunday night 

Month ago, 
Down in my tatcr-field 

With a hoe. 
He hoed my feelin's up, 

Wall, some! 
Could'nt say anything, 

I vum! 

" 'Hoein' yer way to Heaven?' 

■ Sa3^s he. 'Well! 
Bless you! Heaven's over us. 

But Hell, 
Guess you can git to that 

With your hoe! 
Which place you started for?'— 
'I dunno!' 
68 



"Caught me the Sunday next — 

Did beat all— 
Burnin' my bushes down 

Side o' that' wall. 
'Why, my dear Peterson,' 

Says he, comin' nigher, 
'One thing I'll say for you, 

You're good at a fire. 

" 'Fires ain't in fashion though, 

Above, but below ! 
Which place you goin' to?' — 

'I dunno!' 
He looked kind o' sorrowful 

At me. 
An' I had to 'polergize. 

Ye see. 

"Purty good family. 

They say; 
Somewhar in Buffalo, 

Or that way. 
Steered for the ministry 

From a lad. 
Same as his grand-daddy 

An' his dad. 

"Straight as an Indian, 

An' strong; 
Good at an argiment. 

All' long; 
69 



Talks kinder musical 

An' low ; 
Bound to be popperlar? 
That's 'so! 

"Fierce as a cannibal 

Against sin; 
Swift as a hurricane, 

He kin spin 
Ye round w^ith his rcasonin,' 

Like a wheel. 
Lightnin' aint up to hin 

Makes ye feel 

"As though ye wan't nobody 

But a flat, 
But he'll jest comfort ye 

Spite o' that. 
When ye air sorrowful 

An' low. 
Yes, he is talented, — 

That's so! 

"Good at a funeral. 

An' short ; 
Draws the tears out o' ye, — 

A quart; 
Still, he aint harrowin'. 

None o' that; 
Brimful o' sympathy, 

Tender chap! 
70 



"Children is fond o' him, 

A heap; 
Has sech a way with him, 

To keep 
All o' them satisfied 

An' still. 
Stories he tells 'em, an' 

My Bill 

Says they're wuth listenin' to, 

For a man. 
Quite a musicianer, 

I imderstan'; 
Sings, sort o' tenor voice,' 

Purty high. 
Higher 'n the meetin'-honse 

Or the sky. 

'• Got quite a library 

O' books; 
Room full o' fishin'-gear. 

Patent hooks — 
If he ever asks me to 

(No knowin') 
Go out an' fish with him, 

I'm goin'. 

" Young for a minister, 

Twenty-seven. 
Wish he wouldn't talk to me, 

'Cernin' Heaven! 
71 



Wish he wouldn't ' come at ' me 

So quick, 
Makes me feel ricketty 

An' sick. 

" He gits the best o' me 

Right along, 
He is so right-side up 

An' strong; 
An' bein' a minister. 

Ye see, 
Better at arguin' 

Than me. 

" But I would'nt shake him off, 

If I could; 
Ben might}- kind to mc, 

An' good. 
Preached at the funeral 

C my wife, 
Fust week he come to town. 

Bet yer life, 

" I couldn't hev wuthered it 

Without hmi ; 
Then he didn't hammer me 

About sin. 
Didn't try to trip me up. 

Or conwince — 
Guess he has prayed for me 

Ever since. 

72 



" Yes, it does pester me, 

His sayin' 
Things that he doos to me, 

An' pray in' 
Every day for me — 

I'm a man, 
Aint at all meddlesome, 

Understand! 

'■' Mabbe a minister 

Has a right, 
More than the rest ov us. 

To keep in sight 
All o' the neighborhood 

About ! 
P'raps he aint qualerfied, 

Without I 

'^ Purty good listener. 

He is; 
Laugh eouldn't be jollier 

Tban his. 
Sister keeps house for him 

Down below. 
Think in' o' marry in'? 

I dunno! 

"Real Presbyterian, 

Clear through! 
Sarmons is doctrinal. 

And blue. 
73 



His liviii' is bootiful. 

I know that — - 
Only he bothers me, 

Earnest chap. 

"PIe''s goin' tra\ elHir 

In July. 
I hate to think ov it. 

Says I, — 
' Don't be forgettin' us, 

When ye're gone.-" 
I's in the corn-field, 

liocin' corn. 

" \\'all, he jest looked at me, 

With a smile. 
(Reck in that smile o' his 

Goes a mile) 
' I've got a memor\', 

Sa\;, he, 
' And you have been brotherly 

To me.' 

" Said that as serious, 

He did; 
Not any argiment 

Instid, 
Quotin' from scripter as 

I'd feared; 
I come so near crvin' that 

I's skeered. 
74 



"We shook hands on that, 

In the corn. 
I'll miss him aw full}' 

When he's c^one! 
That's our new minister, 

Jest so! 
Okl fashioned princij^les? 

I dunno'!" 



:o:- 



TIP UP YOUR BOWL." 



It's a mighty long voyage to three-score and ten, 

With islands of rest on the way. 
Jack, let ns play we are children again. 
When hearty, bread-and-milk, little men, 

You know we'd a fashion gay 

Of tipping the bowl 

With a resolute soul 

To get at the whole — 
'Twas a pretty full bowl, Jack Jay ! 

Summers and winters three-score lag behind. 
Pleasure's bowl is low down, as you say. 

I am quite deaf, and you are half-blind, — 

But that is no reason for changing our mind- 
To enjoy to the end of the day. 
So tip up vour bowl. 
With a resolute soul 
To get at the whole. 

It's a pretty fair world. Jack Jay ! 
75 



Accordin' to my thiiikin', that's all there is to It,- 
Jack, old boy, wc are pretty near throiioh it. 



:o: 



A BUNCH OF ROSES. 



My child sleeps late! 

There among the roses 
Near the west gate, 

Sweet her repose is, 
Little, laughing Kate! 

\n the summer weather 

She and all the roses 
Fell asleejD together. 

Plappy little posies! 

Seven years or eight — 

She is not much older 
Than the other roses. . . 
I should like to hold her 
While she reposes, — 
O, my little Kate! 

:o: 



PROBLEMS IN INTEREST. 



Polly and me are worried, ye see, 

And ruther in need of a little advice. 

Music is good, that's understood 

Without a savin' it over twice. 



But we sorter (loiil)t if it's all com in' out 

Accorclin' to our ideas of — progression. 

Ye can't hit a mark and shoot in the dark ; 

Nohody can, more than once in succession. 

INIabhy ye might gi\ e us some light 

If it wouldn't be too much bother and labor. 
Music is good, that's understood — 

But it's mighty wearin' on old folks, Neighbor 

Matthew, our oldest, takes lessons in town 
And has for five or six year. It might 

Be inferred he's a doin' it up pretty brown, 
A practicing practicin', mornin' till night. 

A planner 's a reasonal)le thing it is said, 

One that'll stop now and then for a minute, 

But ours never does till the boy's in his bed, 
(And it's half-past-ten afore he is in it.) 

Polly and me don't exactly agree 

What the best place for that instrument is; 
She says that the barn would suit to a charm — 

Not by a long shot! Speckle and Liz 

Wouldn't be wuth their milkin' come night, 
W^ith a planner goin' the livelong day. 

The way I look at it a cow's got a right 

About her surroundin's, — somethin' to say. 

I don't repent the money I've spent. 
Instrument, music-lessons and all, 
77 



But I wif^h that piaiuier was under a tent 
In Alaska or top of the Chinese Wall! 

And Mark conies next. We're ruther perplexed — 

He is a cultivatin' his voice. 
Music is good, that's understood, 

If it ain't too near. He's one of them boys 

Who go at a thing with hamnier and tongs; 

He used to sing hymns as angels rejoice, 
But nary an angel's in one of the songs 

He screeches out now at the top of his \oice. 

He howls his arpeggios — whatever them be — 
And scales that take ye 'way up to the top, 

But when \e liave got there, there's nothin to see. 
Ain't that a mighty ([ueer place to stop? 

And the word^ he sings don't ha\e any wings, 
I ne\erc;i!i tell what he is drivin' at; 

It sets nie to scpiirmin', his singin' in (lernian 
Am] goin' back on his English like that. 

And he ain't satislied with singin' insitle 

Of the house, but he sings everywhere. 

He scares all the birds with his outlandish words — 
PolK- and me ha\e a good deal to bear. 

He screeches bv spells from sunrise till dark, 
He's hearty and healthy and jolly and fat; 

But that dove would never 've come back to the ark 
If Mark hnd been singin' on Mount Ararat, 



The next one is Luke. He's a leaniiii' the floot. 

I wish you could buy one with music all in it, 
And save so much practising toot, toot, toot. 

Me and my wife are ruther agin' it. 

The older we grow the more w^e don't know 
Whether a floot is exactly improvin'; 

The boy plays well; musicianers tell 

Some of his pieces are actually movin'. 

That is the way it strikes me and my wife, 

We'd a sight ruther be movin' than hearin'. 

We've got a good deal to bear in this life 

For folks that are honest and straight and 
God-fearin'. 

And it's my belief it's a makin' us deef, 

Polly and me, and no mistakin', 
A floot, it appears, is hard on the ears. 

Terribly piercin' and shrill and vibratin'. 

Luke is good-lookin' if he is my son, 

I mean when his mouth is properly shet. 

But sence his music-lessons begun 

I reckin the boy is inclined to forget 

To close it. I wish he'd learned the jews-harp. 

Music in thiit, as sure as ye're born! 
And a floot wouldn't be bad, way off in the dark. 
About as fur off as— Good Hope or Cape 
Horn. 

79 



But Polly aiul me can't exactly ag'iee 

Where the wuth of a Hoot comes in. 

JNlusic IS good, that's understood, — 

And a Hoot ain't so bad as a violin. 

John is his father u\er agin, 

^Vith e\es as ])lack as a thunder-cloud; 
And John has got him a new violin. 

They say, for a bov he can beat the hull 
crowd. 

But Polly and me don't exactly agree 

His music's essential to our salvation; . 

Fact is, iiddle-strings are mighty c[ueer things 
To make a branch of a boy's cddication. 

We wouldn't mind if the boy was inclined 

To play a straight tune at least once a week, 

But that violin makes me crawl in my skin 
It works itself into a rage, so to speak. 

And fumes and roars and Iklgets and fusses 
P'or'all the world like a human creetur 

A tiingin' out imprecations and cusses. . . . 
And livin' without it 'ud be completer. 

We think sometimes. For me and my wife 
Are jest old enough to be tired of noise; 

We're pestered every day of our life 

To think we have got sech talented boys 
80 



That the dogs can't sleep aiul the hens won't set, 
And the doors are unhinged with the rattle 
and din, 
The latches won't latch and the windows won't 
shet. 
Planner and (loot and \iolin 

All together, beat Polly and me — 

We love our four boys, our " nearest of kin,"' 
But wife and me think that the bed of the sea 

Would bring out the tone of a new^ violin. 

They make some noise, four musical bo}s — 

And three little shavers, that'll make seven 

When they git bigger. As near's I can tigger, 
Sech music won't be encouraged in Heaven. 



SUMMER DAYvS. 



I have spent my summer day with the winds and 

the sky and the sea, 
And sorrow is ended forever, and hate has set me 

free. 
And two be'oved faces have sp< nt the tlay with 

me, 
A day that was made for the gods, on the singing, 

shining sea. 

Two faces, all others apart. 
In my wilful, faithful heart. 

The face of a child, with a rose's mouth and a 
violet's eyes, 

8i 



Eyes so filled with affection and trust in my 

replies, 
How could I help being tender, and firm, and true, 

and wise. 
1 shall know her when 1 meet her thougli it lie in 
strange disguise, 

Here on earth, or al)o\e, 
O, my little first-love I 

Another -face comes close to the child with the 

rose's mouth. 
Hush I her sweetness and beauty bloomed afar in 

the South, 
Divinely! I could not kee}) ht-r, I could not 

entreat her to stay. 
I shall meet her, I shall greet her, in the dawn of 

a perfect day. 

Up in the gardens above, 
O, my dearest love! 

One day in tlie noon t)f summer, ^vith the winds, 

and. the skies, and the sea. 
And I think I have done with sorrow, and sorrow 

has done with me. 
Henceforth and forever and ever wherevc r my lot 

may be. 
Two faces of love shall lean over as the sky leans 
over the sea. 

Two faces, all others apart. 
In my wilful, faithful heart. 
82 



PARTIAL PAYMENTS. 



A snug little farm on the Beanvillc "run". 

(This story has never been told.) 
The farmer's wife was jolly and young, 

The farmer was jolly and old. 

" Don't ye wait dinner for me, Mary Jane! 

Thar's an apple-tree man at the gate. 
Yes, he's a steerin' right up the lane; 

Set down to yer dinner, don't wait." 

A round, ringing voice in reply — " Felix Fogg, 
Ye've trees enough now for a park! 

O, yes! ye two men '11 set down on that log. 
And talk and talk ontil dark. 

"Don't be a wastin' yer time, Mr. Fogg, 

In sech a ridecerlous way! 
Give him yer arnser, and then let him jog. 

Apple-tree agents don't pay." 

The jolly old farmer broke into a laugh, — 
"Now, Mary, the truth ov it square, 

I haint any room for more than a harf 
Ov the apple and plum, and pear, 

"And cherry, and peach, a'reddy on hand. 
But, wife, I'm ^o tickled to see 
83 



A man that aint Beaiiville stock — understand? — 
And no ways related to nie!" 

A laugh in reply, and Fog-<^ stepped outside. 

The agent, inclined to go on, 
(A most remarkable fact to confide,) 

01)served — " Do you know Mr. BiMin, 

"That farms it a mile or two down on the ' run'?' 
I>aughed Felix, "No man in the vStatc 

Better known! And his harf-brother's son 
Married my first cousin, Kate." 

"Pretty i^ood pay?" asked the apple-tree man. 

The farmer spoke slow — " Wall, he tries, 
He allers lays out, as I understand. 

To pay ye some time 'fore he dies." 

A laugii from the agent, a smile from Fogg. 

Said the first — " Do you happen to know 
That vSmilh that owns the Newfoundland dog 

A matter of four mile below?" 

" Yes," said the farmer, " know him like a book, 

lie married my w^ife's sister Jin " — 
" O," said the agent with skeptical look, 

'■'• 1 su])])ose he 's enough of the 'tin?'" 

"vSartiiily, Sartinly!" Felix replied. 

"llim and money is hot; 
But the strings of his purse is apt to be tied, 

In a purty hard kind of a knot." 
84 



The agent was silent, then said with a frown, 
" You know Johnny Sweet at the mill?" — 

" Know him? As well's anyhody in town, 
His daughter married my Bill." 

" I want to know! [s he good for a dcht? — " 
The farmer replied, " I should say! 

Nobody haint got ahead ov him yet, 

But he's ruther behind in the^rT)'." 

The agent's calm face showed a deepning line — 
" That Russel that lives down below, 

A mile or two east of the Beanville line, 
Perhaps you happen to know?" 

Prompt was the answer, " My brother and his 

Married twin sisters, that's so! 
Fi\'e aunts live w^ith him. His business is riz" — 

" Good place to collect, do you know?" 

A laugh from Fogg. " It's a purty good place 

For debts to collect, and aunts! 
He'd run in debt for the nose on his face. 

If he 'd only the ghost ov a chance." 

The agent said timidly, after a space, 

" Last year I sold Deacon Hill 
Thirty-five apple-trees. Got a nice place. 

Guess he. won't balk at the bill." 

The farmer looked blank and then he looked wise. 
" The deacon's a nevy ov mine. 
85 



His wife's a line crcctur, the light ov his eyes; — 
Got some nice hoys, eight or nine. 

" Balk at a hill? Wall he's apt to forgit. 

Fi\e years ago, coniin' May, 
I sold him potaters. He's eatin' em yit, 

I persooni — for I haint got my pay." 

The apple-tree man dropped down on the log, 
With the least inclination to frown — 

" Really, I'd like to know, Mr. Fog?, 
If thar's anvhody in town 

" That aint rehited to 3'ou or your wife?" 
Then he laughed in a sociable way. 

" I neyer saw such a to^vn in my life 
For relations — and hating to pay." 

The farmer assented. " It is a queer town, 

In them particulars, sir! 
Not many folks hereabout to be found, 
Aint related to me or to Jicr. 

"That ain't the wust, Mr. Apple-tree Man! 

Relations is well, as they goes. 
But a man don't 'go ' that's in debt, understan'! 

He sorter sits still and ozves. 

" The 3x^ars that is wust for my crops is the best 
For me and my wife, do nc see? 

Moreover it giyes all my neighbors a rest 
From increasin' thar debts to me. 
86 



" We ought to be thankful, me 'ncl Mary Jane, 

For this dry season, ye kiiow: 
Thar ain't an}^ crops whar thar ain't any rain— 

And nothin' for neighhors to owe." 

The apple-tree man blew his nose once again, 

With no inclination to laugh. 
'' Why under the sun do you stay here then? 

You're really too patient by half! 

" A man is never too old, you see. 
To better himself and his >vife. 

As thrifty a farmer as man need be. 
And living like this all your life! 

" What is to hinder \ our pulling up traps. 
And leaving the town, this year? 

It surely wouldn't matter to you two raps, 
Whatever becomes of 'em here? " 

The farmer's red face wore a shadow of pain. 
So thought the apple-tree man. 

•' Wall I dunno', my wife Mary Jane 
Declnres she can't understand 

" What I'm a thinkin' ov, goin' on so. 

And layin' up nothin' at all; 
But when a man's yer relation, ye know, 

And so shakv he's threat'nin' to fall, 

" Ye're kinder impelled to give hmi a hand. 
To keep him from tumblin' (iown. 
^7 



I like my relations, ye onderstan', 

And," he laughed, " I like the liuU town. 

" Most ov 'em 's wlUin' to do thar best. 
But they never knowcd how to steer. 

They aint fore-handed, it must be confessed. 
Wife says, it is 'cause thev don't keer. 

" Mighty smart little woman, my wife — 
That's her in the al'paccy gown — 

Yes I reckon I'll live out my life 

Right here in this — blasted town. 

" Hold on," as the agent was making his bow, 
" I'll strike a bargain with yew. 

I s'pose my ' relations ' is owin' ye now 
As much as a fifty — or two. 

"The identical day that yew git it, cash down. 
And yer hand realizes the tin — 

I'll leave my relations in Bcanville town, 
And never come back a^rin." 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



Do you know the streets of London town. 

Murky, and dusty, and dim? 
And a corner-house that is painted brown. 
With a big bow-window Igioking down? 
And a girl's voice saying — " You never 
drown 

If vou only know how to swim." 



Violet-eyed and radiant-browed, 

Till the London day is done, 
Flower-de-Luce paints for a duchess proud. 
When they chide her for stopping^ to smile at the 

crowd — 
" Vou are always in time," and she laughs aloud, 

" If yoj only know how to run." 

She has the fairest face of them all, 

Dainty and sweet and shy; 
Violet eyes — and a crimson shawl. 
So far she leans from the leaning wall. 
They scold. But she laughs— " You never will 
fall 

If you only know how to fly." 

A mob in the streets of London town. 

Safe in her window-seat, 
Flower-de-Luce looks gravely down. 
Watching the poor wretch battered and brown. 
Bumped and buffeted, hunted down. 

From cruel street to street. 

Flower-de-Luce's window^ has opened wide! 

He springs to the window-niche. 
He is safe! There are screams from the mob 

outside, 
" Girl, he is rich! Then let him divide!" — 
"If you only know how to be poor," she cried, 

"It is easv cnouo;h to he rich!" 



She stands in the whidow, white with dread, 
But firm. And the missies fly. 

" A girl is no better 'n a man when dead," 

They mutter and shriek and cry. 

" If you onl}' know how to live,''' she said, 
" It is easy enough to die." 

She waits for the arrow of death to be sped. 
But the hushed crowd passes by. 



AFTERNOON. 



My thought winds in and out as if it knew no 
care; 

Mv path leads out and in as if it had no end: 
The birds flv in and out, a message as to bear; 

Alone I walk the path as if T had no friend. 

The pines join hands above as hapj^v faces meet; 
The ofrasses nod below as talking-, friend to 
friend ; 
The path leads in and out, I follow \\ ith swift 
feet— 
T know a joyous greeting awaits me at the end. 



■:o: 



ANNUITIES. 



When the Summer hours are ended, 
And the Autumn days begin — 
90 



As the old friend leaves your door-wav 
For the nc\\\ friend coming- in — 

'Tis a time for thought to traverse 
The long- windings of the past; 

And the slow heart cannot answer, 
Half the fjuestions it is asked. 

Have \'oii never heard the legend? 

" Everv fiftieth year or so, 
In Septemlier, come responses 

To tlie thoughts of long ago." 

Yesterday mv answer reached me — 
Was it borne by breeze, or bird? 

Or on swifter wings than either? 
Mav T tell vou what I heard? 

'Twas a voice serene yet thrilling; 

'Twas a voice, convincing, clear; 
'Twas a voice, compelled to listen. 

Thus — " The treasures of each year, 

"All the precious things you 've brought me, 

I am holding, never fear! 
All the friends you 've lost are waiting, 

Surelv waiting for \'ou here; 

" Ad the happy dreams you 've given 
To mv hands are still vour own. 

O, have j^atience! you shall have them; 
Thev are yours, and yours alone. 
9^ 



" O, sad heart, be strong and happy — 
With your treasures Qut of sight. 

You shall have thciu in the mornings 

In tiieir sum. Goocl-niglit, good-night I' 



EVOU'TIOX. 



Reckin 1 shall die to-niorrer, 

'Less I go t()-dn\'. 
Preacher-man, he come ter see nu\ 

Some time yesterday; 
An' de doctor don' leah nuthn' 

Fer me an v mo' ; 
All' de wimmen stop an" whisper 

Jes' outsitle de do'. 

Hones, (i\iir in de summer 

vSuits me, dat it do! 
An\' time de Lawd is ready 

I am re:ul\ , too. 
I \vA\v missed \w\ w ife \\\\ chillen, 

I Ione\ , jes dc wust. 
I shall be so glad to see 'em- 

vSee de Ma^ster fust. 

Hless yer, IToneyl I'm all ready. 

R eady fer ter go! 
I would n't keep de T.awd a waitin', 

\ot a minnit mo'. 
He bin miglitv frien'lv ter me 
92 



Vears ago he took de chillen 
Home, an' de oT wife 



Reckiii dey is lookiir fer me, 

Lcaniii"' on de gate. 
All de gladtler fer ter see me 

Cause dey's had ter wait. 
T shall walk up to de Marster 

In de glory-place — 
Fo' I kiss de wife an' chillen, 

Gwine ter see His face. 



CREEDS. 



(jrandmolher Hart in white kerchief and cap, 

,Silk apron and lilac-sprigged gown. 
Had eaten her dinner and taken her nap, 

And was sitting placidly down 
With a pan of l)cans and a cat in her lap. 

Both of them yellowish brown. 
Her voice had a ring and her eye had a snap; 

The dearest old ladv in town. 

" O, Pussy! my darter's a comin' to-night 
Down on the keers from New York. 

Funny, a Methodist flower blowed right 
On a Presbyterian stalk! 

Still I don't say that it's hurt her a mite, 
Pd be 'shamed o' air, such talk. 
93 



(These Chiny beans favor Alice a sight.) 
Thev never eat beans with a fork, 

" The Methody's don't. They're honest, I 'low. 

As anv folks I ever seed. 
Pussy-cat, I didn't make any row 

When Alice slipped out o' my creed 
An' into another. I fancied as how 

The Marster wouldn't let her 'secede.' 
If I wan't an old Presbyterian now, 

An' purty fond o' my creed — 

" But, Pussy, if here ain't a real Lima-l^ean 

Got into the pan with the rest! 
Ruther nice Havor, ripe or green. 

I guess they're a leetle the best I 
With a kind ov a Presbyterian face, 

Dvdl colored, it must be confessed. 
Tough pods, but holdin' a power ov grace — 

An' broad, when it comes to the test. 

"The Presbyterian folks is slow. 

An' ruther hard to git at. 
But once we are started we're sure to ' go,' 

Put that in yer mind, Pussy-cat! 
All o' that suasion that I ever knowed 

Kin separate this from that. 
Kin walk purty straight 'long a purty dark road. 

That is my creed. Pussy-cat. 

" This looks like a good Un'tarian friend — 
This ere's the Indian Chief — 
94 



Riither shortened off at the end 

Accordin' to my behef. 
But a harnsomer bean I never seed, 

As bhie as an indigo leaf. 
Folks will talk, thar's old Jason Reed 

Says 'they're inclined to be deef.' 

" What he was drivin' at does beat me. 

The Unitarian folks on our street 
Have got jest as good ears for all that I see 

As anybody ye meet, 
Opinions about 'em don't seem to agree. 

But thar thinkin' an' livin' is hio-h. 
An' folks don't need so lengthy a creed. 

Pussy-cat, as in years gone by. 

" This Scarlet Runner's a harnsome face. 

Lilac-purple an' brown ; 
Guess' it belongs to the 'Piscopal race, 

Like the family jest mo\cd to town. 
Ornamental an' more than that, 

Thar's grace in the pur^^le govsni. 
Pussy, if you was a High Church cat, 

Ye'd ha\c to larn how to kneel down. 

" I had a notion once, the}' was proud, 

The 'Piscopal folks, ye see; 
But now I never say so aloud. 

You'd better not tell it from me. 
The}' don't mind gi\in' lots to the poor, 

Prettv deep pockets, I guess. 
95 



An' long as thar's money for both, I am sure, 
Pussy, they're welcome to dress. 

" This bean's a fair Universalist type, 

(An' long names are not alius odd,) 
The Scarlet Oxleans^ blood-red when it's ripe, 

An' crowded real close in the pod. 
But beans or folks that's delighted to meet 

(How the angels must crowd about God I) 
Are apt to git close in a church or a stree'. 

Jest like the beans In a pod. 

'•Real happy folks, the Univcrbalists air. 

As much so as ever I seed. 
Pussy, ye know they don't ha\c to prepare 

vSo hard. It's an easier creed. 
Hut they b'lieve in holy livin' an' prayer, 

vSubduin' envy an' greed; 
An' fur as it goes or an old woman knows, 

That's a prettv good kind o\ a creed. 

'' Horiicultural, spotted with red! 

A regular Baptist, that; 
They cling to the pod pretty tight, it is said, 

But nobody'd dare call 'em flat. 
Flavored an' favored as fine as the rest, 

Popperlar, jolly and fat. 
Pussy, if ye w^as more self-possessed. 

Ye might pass for a Baptist cat. 

^' Once on a time I 'lowed they was 'set,' 
An' difficult folks to stir; 
96 



But all the Baptists I ever have met 

Will work (that's a powerful spur) 

To pay thar jest dues an' keep out ov debt, 
An', Pussy, that goes pretty fur. 

They'll make a good prayer an' send it up square 
An' honest to Heaven, as it were. 

'' Ye see this yaller one, flat an' broad? 

A Congregational bean. 
The heaviest yet, not a bit ov a fraud. 

With the least inclination to lean — 
i^ccordin' to cultur vary in' much. 

The Windsor 's an excellent bean. 
Jason Reed says " they walk with a crutch." 

Pussy-cat, what does he mean? 

"'Sister Ann married an Orthodox man, 

A deacon, as good as gold. 
He's got a line' house, an' drives a black span. 

(That is his business, I hold.) 
He's not the man to sit down with a fan, 

Complainin' it's hot or it's cold. 
A man that don't need to be preachin his crcctl 

Very much, will live to be old. 



)ean. 



" Here is the Purple oi Violet 1 

Large, irregular, thin. 
Kind ov a Millerite's face an' mien. 

Inside the violei skin 
Is flavor an' grace an' lots that is good. 

Fair eatin', wdien oiicc ye begin — 
97 



They air a people not half onderstood, 
Pussy, they never have been. 



" The faithfiilest folks that e\er wore shoes, 

The Millerites look' like a sum 
Not adtled up. Independent 's \c choose. 

Got the red «4"rit in 'eni.^ scnne. 
Not a mite troubled hy other folks' vie\v% 

Xo more than a deef-aii'-dumb; 
Alius a listenin' for glorious news, 

Expectin' the Lord to come. 

" Pussy-cat, here's the Aspara<^us bean, 

A good Swedenborgian, vesi 
One ov the curiousest e\er seen; 

Grows in hot wuthcr, I guess. 
The pods is for pickles, unless I am \vrong, 

I aint \er\' wise, I confess. 
The pods is eighteen inches long, 

(Pussy, ye're chewin' my dress.) 

" The vSwedenborgian is 'way beyont me. 

Accordin' to my belief, 
The life they lead is as pure as kin be, 

An' so high it stands out in relief. 
Thar faces jest shine with a somethin' divine, 

They've a wide-open heart an' hand. 
If I half onderstood, jine 'em I would; 

But I'm dull, an' I don't ondcrstand. 

" O, Pussy-cat look wx'U Lo your creed; 
y8 



Know what ye believe, an' why. 
Jest put yer foot down on hypocrisy, greed, 

Whether ye're Low Church or High. 
Satan's got a good deal on his hands 

Jest to take keer ov his own. 
Work right on, do ye understaiul? 

i\n' vSatan will let ye alone. 

" Well, my darter is comin' to-night. 

Puss, on the New-York train. 
They say she favors her mother a sight, 

But she's got a livelier brain. 
I am a slow Presbyterian sinner, 

Half-way 'twixt a flower and a weed. 
Pussy, jump down and Til give ye some dinner 

And uiiiid that yc live out ycr creed'' 



ANALYvSIS. 



A little boat on an English bay 

That ferries from town to town, 

A boatman in blue, with eyes of gray 
That are ever looking down; 

And a rose-faced maiden knitting awa\-, 
A girl in a crimson gown. 

The wind was fair and the baj- was narrow. 

The ferryman, gay was he 
Till I said — "My man, will it rain to-morrow?" 

That ferryman glared at me. 
99 



With a face of fear and hate and horror, 
He turned and jumped into the sea. 

You might have ended my Hfe with a feather. 

But the girl put her knitting down, 
And took the oars up — "You have angered mv 
father, 

But a hoatman cannot drown. 
He says that God takes care of the weather, 

And not the fools of the town." 

A dozen years, and I passed that way. 

The ferryman where was he? 
His daughter answ(n"ed me thus — " One dav 

In eighteen seventy-three, 
vSomebody asked my father to sav 

What the weather would ])e? 
And so my father's gone down in the l>ay 

To get at the facts," said she 



EXCHANGE. 



" Buttercup is gittin' oldish, don't ye think so 

Sam.^ 
Though she's sech a stiddy critter, gentle as a 

lamb, 
I'^■c got harf a mind ter swap herfer ancHher one. 
While she'll bring me somethin' harnsome. What 

yew think, my son:'' 

I GO 



" F nthcr,T wouldn't think ov sellin' Buttercup this 

year. 
Keep her over one niore winter. Co\\s is purtv 

dear, 
When yc louy 'em. Tradin' cows is tricky, father, 

some! 
Oldish, Is she? That don't matter, long's she 

thinks she's 3'oung." 

Nothing's easier, I fancy, than to ask advice. 
Nothing's harder than to take it \\ithout thinking 

twice. 
Nothing suited Farmer Knight so well's to swap 

a cow. 
In the sumnicr or the winter. That's what he did 

now. 

On the Wednesday that came after. Buttercup was 

led 
By the farmer to the market-town that lav ahead. 
Up the \allev, four miles distant. And the farmer's 

son 
Hoed the corn with douMe vigor till the day was 

done. 

Late at night returned the farmer with another 

cow. 
Bound to take the shine off Buttercu]:), he did 

"allow"; 
Larger, fatter, vouched io he a Jersey, branch and 

root. 
A?^(l the farjjicr pa'ul o?il only tzveniy-five to hoot. 



The new cow, named Hiawatha, did her hest at 

first; 
But a fortnight liad not passed before she (hd her 

wor>t. 
" Sam, I did git cheated on that Hiawatha beast, 
What I fonnd in her so takin', I don't see the 

least. 

"I dechir' slie aint a Jersey, 'taint a Jersey head. 
Cattle-dealers is so tricky— reckin I'ye been ' l^led/ 
But they \yon't catcii me a nappin' when I go 

agin. 
I sliant keep that Hiawatha! Why, she's ugly's 

sin I 

" Kicks the pails an' me both over ev'ry single 
night I 

'^'oung! She's older 'n Bnttercup were, and in- 
clined tcr fight 

Ev'ry time they go ter water, alhis wants the 
lead. 

Can't he trusted, Sam, that creetur haint got any 
creed. 

" Reely, Buttercup could l)eat her all ter pieces, 

Sam. 
Hiawatha I ISIight he\- knowed the cow were jest 

a sham. 
Next, I'll git one with a Christian fiavor to her 

name. 
No, a cow named fer an Indian aint so much ter 

blame." 

I02 " 



So the farmer, with the cow in company, next 

day 
Started for tlie market-borough just four miles 

away. 
Hiawatha proved to be a rather Hvely friend. 
On whose horns and hoofs the farmer could not 

quite depend. 

Dusty, Inittered past description, when tliev 

reached the town, 
Cow and farmer both that minute wouldn't liave 

brought a crown. 
Hiawatlia lacked aml)ition to appear her best. 
But was plainly most intent on taking needed 

rest. 

Well, to make the story shorter. Farmer Knight 

at last 
Found a cow that seemed to suit him, made the 

bargain fast. 
This one was a Jersey also, Thistle was her 

name. 
With a head that was angelic, skin like silk, and 

tame. 

" Sam," he told his son next morning, "that's a 

harnsome brute! 
Lucky feller ter pay only Hveuty-five ter boot\ 
Thistle's milk is almost bntter 'thout a churn at 

all. 
I must git another butter cow before the fall." 
103 



Sam was rather stiff and silent, not a word to sav, 
Only hoed with double vigor in the corn that day. 
Sam was keener than his father, his own mother's 

son, 
With a lively sense of humor, prettv nearlv "fun." 

Thistle was an acquisition in a horny way, 

Used her horns to such advantage on the second 

day. 
She had made an easy entrance to the field of 

wheat — 
Farmer Knii^ht did all tlie swearino- for tlie state 

tliat week. 

" Sam, I own l'\'e been defeated, 'sold' like anv- 

. thincr. 
Thistle 's sharper than a hc^rnet with a hcn-net's 

stin^-. 
(Bit m\' iinoer in two places In tlie barn ter-day.) 
Give down Initter? Sam, it's more like butter-milk 

or wliew 

'■' Well, I never see a cow before p;ive milk like 
that! 

An' I never see one either trample wlieat so flat. 

vSlie were ri^'litlv named a 'Thistle', full ov thistle- 
tricks. 

vSam, she's got a dispersition might v like Old Nick's. 

"Once more I must go ter market, third time 

never fails. 
I won't have one too in(piisiti\e about my rails. 
104 



I won't have one ter give butter in place ov milk, 
Or a head jest like an angel's, or a skin like silk. 

" Sam, I want a sensible, old-fashioned Jersey 

cow. 
I must make an even swap this third time, I 

allow. 
Market day agin ter-morrow. Thistle's got ter 

Fore she breaks inter the clover or the corn 
below." 

In the mornmg bright and early, thrifty Farmer 

Knight, 
Leading warily the Thistle, disap[)eared from 

sight. 
Sam was hoeing until dinner, then he hoed again, 
Supper time, and still no " farmer," the most 

prompt of men. 

But the early evening brought him. All sat down 
to sup. 

♦'Sam, I've got a smaller Jersey, size ov Butter- 
cup; 

But she's two or three years younger, with a finer 
head. 

Gettin' darkish when I bought her. Sam, I'm 
goin' ter bed, 

"Jest as soon's I'm through with supper — Come 
jest like a lamb. 

105 



Sech a quiet cow ! Her name is ' Atalanta,' Sam. 
vSech a knowin' creetiir, reely, sech a harnsome 

brute, 
That I'll not 1)C apt ter grudge my izve?ity-Jive ter 

bootr 



When the farmer rose next morning — with an 

aching brow — 
There was Sam ahead of him, and milking the 

new cow. 
Quite amazed at such proceeding — " Sam," cried 

he, " what's up?" 
" Two ov us," cried Sam a laughing, " me an' 

Buttercup." 

Farmer Knight stood liack in wonder and extreme 

surprise. 
Thousands of interrogations in his staring eyes. 
Then he stroked the gentle Jersey in a rare 

delight — 
" Buttercup, so that is why ye kept the step la^t 

night. 

" Buttercup is Atalanta ? She is Buttercup?" 
Roared the farmer mid his laug-hino^. " Well I 

give it up! 
Wish I had them twenty-fives I had ter pay ter 

boot! 
Wish I had that wheat-field trampled by the 

Thistle brute! 

io6 



" Atalanta's Buttercup!" roared old Farmer 

Knight, 
" Sam, I were a lucky feller in my trade 1 st 

night! 
If 1 ever swap another in the market, hark! — 
Sam and Buttercup, bear witness — I'll swap in the 

dark!" 



DUSK. 

I have been walking, I have been sleeping; 

I have read a story of comfortless grief; 
I have sung me a song that ended in weeping; 

I have lost a friend— Turn over the leaf. 

I have gathered a nose-gay without any rosts, 

I have gathered one summer without anv 
grief; 

I am weary of walking, the darkness closes. 
The day is done — Turn over the leaf. 



:o:- 



DAYS OF GRACE." 



I'se ben mighty po'ly. Honey, 

Mo'n a year. 
Why, de Lawd done sent his angel 

Onct, an' skeer 
Me harf to deaf, de day 'fo' Christmas, 

On my bed, 

107 



Heerd a knockiii', — " Come up higher, 
Uncle Ned." 

Jes'so! An' I up an' answered 

Loud an' clear — 
" Angel, take some oder nigger 

An' leab me here, 
If it's all de same to you," an' 

vShet my eyes. 
Bless ver! 'taint no day '/o' Christmas, 

Dis nigger dies. 

Well, I don' hear nulTin from him 

Any mo'. 
For a minnit. Den I heerd him 

At de do', 
Knockin', callin', " Come up higher, 

Uncle Ned!" 
" No, I fank yer, I's too sick ter 

Leab my bed!" 

I say to him. He smile at me 

In de dark. 
An' I 'low he done gone lef me 

Dis time. Hark! 
De same knockin' an' de callin' — 

" Uncle Ned, 
Stir yer bones an' come up higher," 

De angel said. 

An' I sorter lose my patience 
1 08 



Wid him den. 
Couldn't I 'fuse an' invertashun 

Like white men? 
An' de mo' I steddied on it, 

It vvarn't clear 
'Twas de Lawd dat sent dal ant^cl 

'Way (lo^vn here. 

J^atan's trick}-, an' dat ant^cl 

Dressy an' trim 
Might he one oh his poor ]-elations 

W'orkin' fcr him ! 
1 was skeered. An, then 1 riz up 

From mv hed. 
An' I shook hands wid de an^el, 

An' I said — 

'^ All de worl' knows dat dis nigo^er's 

A husiness man. 
lie don' go off wid strange angels, 

Ye understan'. 
If thar aint some sort ov ref'runce 

Handed in. 
Go yer way now, jMr. Angel, 

An' c<nne agin," 



ACCENTliATION. 

•' T is named fer my ole marster 'mung de hills oh 
Tennesee, 

109 



Colonel ]Marcus Stuart, — but de Colonel don't 
hitch ontcr me. 

'-'■ I'sc got thirteen sons an' darters; some is' gals 

an' some is boys, 
An' de whole lot steddies Grammar. 'Pears to 

make a heap ob noise, 

" Granimar do! Pronunceration am de climax 

wid 'em all, 
Dcy come down on dar ole daddy like a mile ob 

granick wall. 

" Now, it don' set well, a scoldin' from de chillens 

ye've brung up, 
Crittercizin' yer axcentin', an' de might}- Lawd 

knows what. 

" An' I spoke up to de chillens, an' dey knowed I 

warn't in fun. 
Well as if dey'd never seed a grammar underneaf 

de sun. — 

" Chillens, ye're like roosters crowin' 'fo' ye've 

half-way clum de fence, 
Eddication's eddication, common sense is common 

sense. 

" Ye haint got enough ob nuthin yit, to hurt ye, 
gals an' boys; 



I'll ])ernounce yc, I'll axceiit yc, if ye don't hush 
up yer noise. 

" vS'posin', now, de Lawd should call nie, chillens, 

should I make a fuss? 
Shouldn't I 'low he meant nie whether lie said 

JAz/'cus or Marr/zi"? 

'^ Grammar me, an' I will hammer ye, twell ye're 

jest hills an' dents. 
Eddication's eddication, common sense is common 

sense. 



:o: 



GHOSTS. 



Jography don't say a single word ahout 'em, 
Howsomever, /couldn't get along without 'em. 
Seen 'em ever sence I was a little shaver 
Not much bigger than a demi-semi-quaver. 

Jography asserts the world contains five races. 
Some with dark and some with light-complected 

faces. 
Not a word of ghosts, who rival the Caucasian — 
In bein' light-complected they beat all creation. 

A book haint got no call to be so absent-minded, 
A book haint got no right to be " shet off" and 

blinded 
By prejudice and smallness of the folks that write 

'j^m, 

in 



Sech benighted people need a ghost to light em. 

About the h'apparitions? Me and Sall}''s met 'em. 
They seem to fancy visitin' our house, and we 

let em. 
When a fust-elass ghost has got a plan or notion, 
It's jest as easy stoppin' liim as 'tis the ocean. 

I reckin that':, what gives 'cm sech a reppertati(jn. 
A\Mien it comes to stubbornness, they beat the 

nation. 
Ilevin' your ow n wa\- belongs to ghosts and 

women. 
That's my obser^■ation from the fust beginnin'. 

When I was a bo} in the town of Little Pedum 
I was fond of chestnuts. But I didn't steal \m — 
I didn't (frt-// it stealin'; they belonged to iiatur'. 
Glowed up without seein' hoe or cultivator. 

Any 1>oy could make 'em his appropriation. 
Fust chap on the ground, that's my calculation. 
Owned them chestnuts — jest providin' he could 

git 'em 
Without the dog's objectin'. When he did, he 

bit 'em. 

Wait a bit, I'm comin' to the h'apparition. 

I kin tell a story without reppertition. 

Sally can't. She mixes this thing with the other, 

She does, she patterns after her grandmother. 

112 



And talkin' about her, her ghost beats all creation, 
Mighty sociable for a near relation. 
Aint aiiionth a goin', September to September, 
She don't call on me or Sally. I remember 

Fust year we was married, me and Sally Morey — 
\'ou aint interusted? Want the other story? 
Wall, I do declare! You young folks may be 

brighter 
At readin', cipherin' — but old folks is politer. 

I went for them chestnuts down in Little Peelum. 
(vStrange, the ghost couldn't see I hadn't come to 

steal 'em) 
Ruther cloudy evenin', looked a bit like rainin'. 
I didn't keer for that, a feller aint complainin' 

Jest because there's clouds a comin' in the wuther. 
I was ruther thankful, take It all together. 
I was bright enough for makin' the deduction, 
A^oiu I'd get them chestnuts without interruption. 

I had brought two baskets, big as I could master. 
How I hurried! But the wuther hurried faster. 
When the fust was filled it was blowin' like a 

wonder. 
'Fore the next was harf-full, blowed and rained 

like thunder. 

What to drive at next I was meditatin'. 
When ye aint harf dressed rain is aggervatin', 
"3 



Let alone it's bein' the last part of October. 
Rain that's almost hail makes ye ruther sober. 

Wan't no foliage to give me any shelter — 
^Vhat 'u(l leaves be under sech a pelter-pelterr 
I was alhi< ruther sensitive to wettin'; 
Ilaint no explanation, way Fs made, I reckin. 

I could s;ive mv skin by runnin' like a rabbit 
Home. And leave my prize for another chap l«> 

nal) it? 
WHiv, the \er\' thought nerved me to desperation. 
A bov is like a ghost in swift determination. 

I declared that nothiiT in tlie way of wuther 
Should dare to pa.rt me and the cliestnuts from 

each other. 
T'other basket must be lilled, was my decision. 
{ I didn't know a ghost w^ould take the supervision. ) 

I was w^etter than a drownded rat or beaver; 
I was colder than a chill afore a fever; 
I was stiffer w^ith resentment than a rafter; 
I wan't inclined to cryin'; I wan't inclined to 
laughter. 

Rained and blowed and all the elements seemed 

lightin'; 
All to once I fancied somethin' ruther strikin' 
Was overlookin' me in sorter mild derision. 
I went on a pickin' with tolerable decision. 
114 



Heard somebody coughin', my work kcp' a goin'. 
Heard somebody groanin', I kep' on a throw in' 
Chestnuts in my basket. Though it riled me 

ruther, 
A ghost shoukl be so fooHsh to go out in secli 

wuther. 

T/ie/vQ susceptible to cokl as any human, 
Sally says—and she is truthful, for a woman. 
He kep' on a groanin', I kep' on a pickin', 
\\' hen a nut wan't handy I jest throwed a stick 
in. 

I didn't feel so easy as I's used to feelin'; 
Seemed as if that ghost must think I was a stealin'. 
Commonly a spook's a deal of penetration. 
In fact he's got a talent for discrimination. 

I could feel all kinds of chills run down my 

marrer, 
'Feared to me the world was gittin' mighty narrer. 
I wouldn't humor htm, I kep' a puttin' that in, 
I wouldn't humor him by turnin' to look at him. 

Be was jest behind me. When ye're in a hurry, 
And rainin' guns and forks and ev'ry kind of 

worry, 
And when a ghost is overlookin' ye and sighin' — 
Your feet aint quite as light as hummin' birds 
a fly in'. 

"5 



All to once I thought I had better face him, 
Had a kind of notion 't would be ruther braciri' 
To find out how he looked, take his mental 

measure — 
Jest as soon 's the chestnuts give me an\- lez/.ure. 

(701 my 1)asket full. (), liow I did shi\er! 

And my heart ke})' jumpin' — mig-ht ha\ e ben m\' 

liver — 
With that Lfhost a •jroanin' misfhtih- and <rnm!in\ 
T]i()u;4ht \\\ count a hunderd, then 1 would con^ 

front him. 

I turned round mighty cjuick so as to surprise 

him. 
Shook me up a little, there aint no disguising 
What [ did diski\'er with my eyes that minute — 
My fust basket emptied, ami the g-kost a sctt'ni' 

ill it. 

I could see the chestnuts scattered all around 

him. 
He didn't look so " bracin' " now my eyes had 

found him. 
He was tall, seven-footer if he'd ben a standin'. 
With a way of lookin'that was quite commandin'. 

Bless 3^! his appearance was extraordinary- 
Even for a ghost. I was embarrassed., very! 
His eyes were ruther large and deep and full of 
wonder — 

116 



And then my liver troul)led me, the rain, the 
thunder ! 

I wanted both my chestnut baskets for my labor, 
But rainy nights, a ghost is not a pleasant neighbor. 
All his actions tended to induce the feelin' 
That his excellency supposed me to be stealin'. 

I wan't a bit afraid. The longer I stared at him 
The angrier I got. But a ghost, ye can't attack 

him. 
Whatever are your feelin's or your provocation, 
Ye let a ghost alone, as ye desire salvation. 

I was mighty quick in reachin' my decision — 
I'd mind my own business if the ghost would 

Jits' f{. 
But emptyin' my basket and plantin' himself in it. 
The more I gazed at him the more I went agin it. 

I made up my mind I'd have the empty basket. 
Very likely I should only have to ask it. 
This I did, extendin' a hand to take possession. 
What come next? ? ? An arithmetical pro- 
gression. 

I was draofofcd and hustled, I was scratched and 
shaken ! 

Quite in vain [ gasped, " his lordship was mis- 
taken 

In thinkin' me a thief." He kep' on pullin', 
117 



tearlu'. 
I was shocked to find a o^host so — overbearin'. 



I remember thinkiu' he must have been a Russian 
'Fore he left the earth. . . Then a sharp 

concussion, 
Snappin', crackin', grincHn'. Then somebody 

hollered, 
Not the ghost. And I've forgotten jest what 

follered. 



Doctor said that ghost must have some grudge 

agin mc. 
Didn't appear to be a single zuhole bone in me 
Next day when I waked up. Middle of December 
Afore I left my sick bed. So much I remember. 



Ye see my cheek, the scar? Them fingers, had to 

lose 'em. 
If a ghost has teeth, he aint no right to use 'em. 
I suppose it must have ben the awful wuther 
Made him pitch on to me like Cain on his own 

brother. 

I didn't recognize him, he wan't no relation. 
Near as I kin figger he struck the wrong plan- 
tation. 
And took me in the darkness for a colored nigger. 
That's the explanation, near as I kin figger. 
ii8 



Never met a ghost of equal animation; 

Or a ghost so wantin' sense and penetration 

As to think a feller raised like me was stealin'. . . 

That was long ago in the town of Little Peelum. 

Spite of that encounter, I've got a real affection 
For the race of ghosts, with that one exception ; 
Sally says their temper's better 'n the Caucasian, 
And Sally is a woman of discrimination. 

Afore ye go away — not because j/^w doubt it — 
Father alius said there w^an't no ghost about it. 
He said 'twas a dog belongin' to old Cheever 
That sat up in that basket and chawed me into 
fever. 

Cheever was the farmer that owned the chestnuts, 

stranger; 
Owned a white dog also, think his name was 

Ranger; 
But as I look at it, a man of much decision 
Knoivs a dog's a dog, and not a h'apparition. 



TO-MORROW. 

Chatter of crickets. 
Hum of the bees. 

Swishing of grasses. 
Rustle of trees 1 

Arguing sparrows 



Up in the pines, 

Humming-birds whirring 

Low in the vines; 

Swaying of roses. 

Blossom and bud ; 
Bitter-sweets dropping 

Down with a thud. 
Voices of children 

Over the way — 
" Why isn''t to-morrow 

Part of to-day?" 

Are all of them asking 

The self -same thing? 
The crickets that chatter. 

The birds that sing. 
The clamorous grasses 

Where rough winds play, 
The vines and the roses ? 

Is that what they say? 

Listen! To-morrow 
Is part of to-day. 



BY HOOK OR CROOK 



What's the use of livin', Ned?" 
Said Prudence with a sigh. 



"Poor old Speckle-face is dead. 
And I can't git it in ni)^ head 
How she come to die! — " 

" Wall, I aint no doctor, Prude, 

That deals \Yith life and death. 
But fur as kin be onderstood, 
Speckle's judgment wan't so good. 

And she died for want of breath.- 

" Ned, your jokin' 's putty flat," 

Said Prudence, looking glum. 
"Why, SjDeckle-face was growin' fat. 
What could the cow be drivin' at 

To die? Now tell me, come! — " 

" Hemlock killed her, that's my mind. 

She knew 'twas death to life. 
Rut cows are jest like women-kind — - 
And Speckle alius was inclined 

To please herself, dear Wife. — " 

" Woman-kind is human-kind," 

Said Prudence with a cough. 
" And it's alius them that's left behind 
Feels worst, accordin' to my mind — 
Poor Speckle's better off! — " 

Said he, " I haint a grain of doubt 
That cow's beyond the stars, 

121 



In the pastiir's green we read about— 
They nevei could keep Speckle out, 
Shc^i Jest /look dozvn the barsy 



:o:- 



IMMORTELLES. 



South of tlie Spanisli sierras by the great Atlantic- 
sea 

She said that her heart was breaking for the 

parting that had to be, 
A sweet, dark-eyed 7nucJiaca\ but an English lad 
was he. 

And she wrote on a leaf, 
These words, tear-wet: 
" I shall die of grief 
Tf m}' lover forget!*" 

-Vway from the S])anish sierras and across the 

Atlantic sea 
The English lad went sailing. And the Spanish 

maiden she 
Forgot that her heart was breaking — of a pain 
that had ceased to be. 

For her years grew glad. 
And the girl was wed. 
While the English lad 
Might be living or dead. 

Her life was honored and happy as matron's and 
wife's should be. 

122 



Her children and years were many where the fli;- 

and the orange tree 
Budded and blossomed and faded by the i^reat 
Atlantic sea. 

Nor grief nor regret 

Nor sorrow nor fears. 
To live and forget 
Is better than tears. 

Ilcr husband passed from earth. She grew more 

silentl}' sweet, 
With thinking of Heaven's mercies, of tlie 

pleasant paths her feet 
Had followed with him and the children. And 
life w^as fair and complete. 
It is sad to regret. 

It is sad to recall. 
To live and forget 
Is better than all. 

But there came a day in summer, by the great 

Atlantic sea, 
A faded leaf in an old book hid, and Jound. 

Faded was she 
As she read — " I shall die of grief if my lover fo'-- 
get me." 

O, my English lad 

Lost with the years! 
To love and forget 
Is sadder than tears," 



vShc said as she lifted up her face where fear and 

sorrow were rife. 
Foro-otten her joys as a mother, forgotten her joys 

as a wife, 
She longed for a glimpse of the English lad she 
had loved in the flnsh of her life, 
In the morning year's 

With their joys dew-wet. 
Sadder than tears. 
To love and forget. 

And south of the Spanish si-e^ras — for all tlie 

stories agree — 
A miracle came to pass. She was old as she well 

could he, 
Ihit she knew her English laddie from over tiie 
Northern sea. 

And into his arms 

Straightway did fall. 
To live and to lo\e 
Is best of all! 

lie looked at her and kissed her, he looked at her 

and smiled. 
'^ Thine English lad is a lad no more, and thou no 

longer a child. 
Sweet, I never have wed a wife! Dear, I ha\ e 
loved thee the length of my life!" 
" To live and to love 
And never to wed, 
J 24 



Is saddest of all," 
She softly said. 

And south of the Spanish sierras, by the great 

Atlantic sea, 
The English /ad and his lassie sit under their own 

fig-tree, 
A /id the sum of their Jaithfiil years is 1S3. 



:o: 



KORN. 



Young married folks in their twenties — 
Forties might have been wiser — 

They, farmed it just o\er "the medders" 
Sil ts and Susan Skeizer. 

The gO(Kl Nvife was handy. The Skeizers 
Were nothing if not systematic. 

Th y labelled their seeds in October, 
And stored them away in the attic. 

^'ow Silas was proud of his logic. 

And she of her intricate spelling. 

And now I have got to my story, 
A story Tm fond of telling. 

On a fine " baking " morning in April, 

He called to the wife of his bosom — 

'' Fetch me the Dutton 'n King Philip 
Out ov the garret, Susan! 
125 



" Yer legs are sounder 'n yer logic, 

An' I am a hefty man ruther. 
Everything's ready for plantin', 

^le an' the corn an' the wuther, 

" Thank 3^e, Wife! Yew be a quick 'un; 

A help-meet, thanks to my choosin'! 
Mighty fine ears, this King Philip?' 

Reggelar beauties, Susan!" 

The farmer leaned down of a sudden, 
And then leaned back with a laugh. 

" Wall, I'm surprised at ye, Susan! 

Ye spell like a nateral-born — carf ! 

" This Dutton keerd is yer writin'. 

And the way ye've spelt "corn" is amoosin' 
It beats all sin an' creation. 

Aint any K in it^ Susan T 

The good wife was visibly angrj^, 

With possibly little excuse. 
" Corn with a K, Silas Skeizer! 

Ye must be a nateral-born goose! 

"Look for yerself in this "Ploughman!" 

Aint that a C, Silas Skeizer? 
Next time thar's laughin' at spellin', 

'T wont be at mine, yew old miser!" 
126 



"Susan," the farmer spoke calmly, 

" Ye're mad. That's alius the way 

^ith a woman. I tell ye, King Philip 
Corn starts off with a K. 

" Differunt kind, stands to reason, 
Begins with a differunt letter. 

Women is apt to confound 'em. 

Women don't know any better." 



The farmer strode off to his planting 

In the mealy April weather. 
The good wife " het" the brick oven 

Hot enough for seven " bakin's " together 

The Autumn was come. And one Sunday 

Silas and Susan Skeizer 
Strolled out when the corn was as yellow 

As ever the hoard of a miser. 

" This," cried the jubilant farmer, 

"This ere's a reggelar waker! 
This is my field of King Philip — 

Ninety bushels to the acre!" 

One field gave way to another. 

" An' this is the Button," laughed he. 
" Not up to thirty or forty — 

This corn begun with a C. 
127 



" Susan," roared young farmer Skeizer, 
" A woman is good at her spellin'; 

But it takes a man and some logic 

To raise any corn wuth a shellin'!" 



:o: 



STRIKES. 



" vSetdown ter breakfast!" said Grandfather Gram, 
" Help yerself ter some more ov the ham! 
Eggs? I miss 'em, ye'd better believe; 
But, openly I aint a goin' ter grieve." 

He pushed back his plate and he tipped up his 

chair. 
And run his brown hands through his iron-gray 

hair, 
" Breakfast without any eggs is a sham. 
I'll tell ye about it," said Grandfather Gram. 

" Three weeks ago an' my hens worked as fine 
As any within the Connecticut line. 
Ready ter do whatever I said, 
Willin' ter eat whatever I fed. 

" Yes, 't were a most unfortunit day 
When I sent that high-strung Cochin awa}', 
Hopin' the hen might "experience a change," 
An' come back an' lay on the old home range. 
128 



"The name of that Cochin was 'No-account 

Jane,' 
The reason whereof is siiliiciently phiin. 
I sent her away one morning. Come night, 
i^U ov the fowls had quit work — on a strike. 

" I felt sorry, an' I felt mad. 

But I missed my eggs so mortal bad 

That No-account Jane were allowed to return. 

Sometimes ye can't afford to be stern. 

" My biddies went back to thar work, it is true! 
I foolishly 'lowed all my troubles was through. 
A hen has a conscience, ye may say what yc like — 
Onless that hen is a plannin' a strike. 

" Neighbor, fer days thar conduct were such, 
I thought I couldn't praise them biddies too much- 
A charmin' docility 'clipsed the old ' pluck ' — 
Four days more, them hens had all struck! 

" Ve might have knocked me down with a pin. 
I couldn't harf tell ye, if I should begin, 
All my amazement, amusement an' scorn. 
The wuthless creeturs had struck fer more corn. 

" Wantin' more corn! An' already so fat 
They'd rim over tharselves an' tumble down flat. 
Wantin' more corn! An' all the time crammed! 
That beat me!" said Grandfather Gram. 
129 



" Three days passed. I were weak on my legs, 
A missin' my breakfast ov ham an' eggs. 
I didn't feel sorry but mad — with myself, 
Agin I put my pride on the shelf. 

" I give 'em more corn, at least ten per cent, 
An' them hens went to work as if 't was a stent 
Ter lay jest as many eggs as they could. 
T never have thoroughly onderstood 

" Which ov the biddies were most ter blame, 
I reckin it may have been No-account Jane. 
Them hens fer a week did remarkably well. 
Besides our own table, we had 'em ter sell. 

" I boasted at large ov my hens an' tliar work. 
I even said No-account Jane warn't a shirk. 
I give 'em abundant ter eat an' ter drink. 
One week later, — an' what do ye think !" 

Grandfather Gram rocked hard in his chair, 
And ruffled afresh his iron-gray hair. 
" Them hens quit work agin, all in a heap — 
Demandin', dcmand'nC ^ an hour's more sleep. 

" Off on a strike now, the whole blasted lot! 
They sw'ar they will beat me, I s:w'ar they shal 

not. 
If I grow so redooced that I'm minded ter beg, 
I never '11 ask 'em agin fer an ^'g^. 



I 



" I've give 'em some time ter think it all out, 
Ter know thar own minds, or somewhar about. 
I've give 'em all until Saturday week— 
But they never shall have that extra hour's sleep. 

" All this foolin' must finish by then. 
Neighbor, some things I won't stand — from a hen. 
Endurance does have its limit, ye see, 
An' every hen that's a workin' fer me 

" Is governed by rules ov my own, not hern. 
Thar is a pint they'd all better learn. 
A hen on a strike shows one thing plain — 
She don't monoperlize much on the brain. 

" Ruther a lack ov brains, it shows. 
A hen's a good creetur, as fur as she goes, 
But ye kin do without 'em, that's what I feel. 
Nothin' like eggs to make out a squar' meal. 

" But when it comes ter thar tellin' me f^at, 
I must do this or I mustn't do that. 
Them hens must go!" said Grandfather Gram, 
" An' I'll buy the eggs ter go with my ham." 

Two weeks later. Said Grandfather Gram, 
" Help yerself to some more ov the ham. 
Them is purty fine eggs, I allow. 
Help yerself! I biiy my eggs now. 
131 



" Yes, my hens is out ov a job, 
No-account Jane and the hull kerboh. 
Out ov employment an' out o\- corn, 
Out ov pocket as sure's ye're born I 

'^ They've grown so lean an" lank an' thin, 
As easy as not ter jump out ov thar skin. 
They lack the courage to lay an egg. 
It's ag'inst thar principle to beg, 

" An' so they steal, wherever they can. 

A hen that is an onprincipled hen, 

Is a lourty bad one, an' no mistake. 

A habit ov stealin' is a hard im ter break I 

"It spreads like the cholery fur an' wide, 

Beginnin' in folly, envy an' pride. 

It ends in ruin, starvation, an' deaili — 

Which is only a failin' ter draw a long breath. 

" In jest one respect my hens beat me. 

They did git that hour more ov sleep, ye see. 

Got a monojDoly thar sure's ye're born, 

More ov the sleep an' less ov the corn! 

" O, I am sorry, but what kin ye do? 
Yes, I trusted 'em through an' through ! 
A strikin' is something like facin' a ram — 
Ye're sure ter go up," said Grandfather Gram. 
132 



" Neighbor, a hen has a good deal ov cheek, 
An' a starvin' her won't make her any more 

meek. 
These are vSmith's eggs. Have some more ov 

'em, Neighbor! 
My hens is a ponderin' the question ov labor." 



HEARTS AND COMPLEXIONS. 

Said the carrot to the parsnip, 

"Just look at m}' skin! 
A l)eautiful color! But yours is duller 

Than a worn-out pin!" 

Said the parsnip to the carrot, 

" Your color is fine. 
And set on the table, I suppose you are ai)le 

All the rest to outshine?" 

Said the carrot to the parsnip, 

" I confess — but don't tell, 
For it isn't a matter for gossip and chatter — 

I don't eat very w^ell." 

.Said the parsnip to the carrot, 

" There are people who claim, 
It is they who are duller in fashion and color 
Are finer in grain." 
133 



BOOKS. 



I'm pestered about it! My brother, he died 
And willed his Wderry ter me. And I've tried 
Ter git time ter read 'em — jest fer the looks, 
And seein' my brother used ter like books. 
lie wa'nt a farmer, lawyer he was! 
Makes ye quick-witted .' I reckin it does. 

Vollums and vollums I've got ter wade through; 
Makes me feel anxious and sorrerful too! 
Year comin' Christmas, my brother's l:>en dead, 
And " Pickwick Papers" is all I hev read. 
That's sort ov heavy readin' at night ; 
Made me so wakeful I couldn't sleep a mite! 

Best thing about it is, I do forgit 

What I've been readin', tollable quick. 

Last week a Monday I finished that thing. 

Them " Pickwick Papers." And I couldn't begin 

Now ter tell ye a name that is in it. 

Names don't stick ter me more than a minute. 

The Doctor, he told me it had " lots ov fun," 
And I kep' a lookin' from the time I begun 
A readin' the story, ter see it crop out. 
I never found nothin' ter laugh about! 
Nothin' ter smile at ontil I were through — 
So glad it were finished I laughed — so would you. 
134 



A man must be funii}', I reckin, himself, 

Ter keep sech a story fer " fun " on his shelf! 

Reel harnsome bindin' the book has got, though! 

vShows that the orthour had taste, ye know. 

Glad it is finished! So much done! 

But " Pickwick Papers " is purty lame " fun." 

In mv Wbcrry is rows and rows 

Ov books ov ref'runce. It don't look like prose 

Or poetr either. It puzzles me, some, 

Ter know what ter call it. I hope it aint fun! 

I'll ask the Doctor when he comes round. 

And if it aint funny I'll feel sorter bound, 

I reckin, ter read 'em. A purty squar' job, 
'Twill last me a matter of ten year and odd. 
O, I kin do it by settin' up late 
And gettin' up 'arly — I'll try, any rate! 
I know m}' dooty and I'm goin' ter do it. 
But that \\bc?'ry^ I wish I were through it! 

Wife is a reader, got a good mind! 
But this li/;<?/'7-y haint her kind, 
So she informs me. She's read a heap — 
" Robinson Crusoe," (That's ruther deep,) 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin," " Paradise Lost," 
'•Vicar ov WakefieVl," and "Hens, What they 
Cost." 

Yes, she's a reader. But she don't keer 
Fer sech a libcrry as I've got here. 
135 



She were a teacher when she were young, 
Riither long-winded, flooent ov tongue 
I guess — in a measure. She's fifty-three, 
Says she's forty; forgitful, ye see. 






Yes, my Wberry has histories too; 
All about nations and what they do. 
Them is improvin', they say, ter a chap. 
Writ by McMauley, or somethin' like that, 
Ruther smart feller, must hev known some 
Rcckin I'll read 'em. Hope it aint fun! 

Greek books among 'em! Aint that a sell? 
I can't make out English any too well! 
How do ye manage ter read sech books? 
I'd like ter do it, jest fer the looks 
And 'cause my brother used ter know how. 
I tlon't onderstand it more than a cow! 

Big dictionary among the rest, 

Full ov short stories — I like 'em the best, 

Don't make ye wakeful, fust chilly, then hot; 

Them is my favorites out ov the lot. 

Purty expensi\'e, cost a big sum. 

^Ilghtv safe readin', thar aint any fun. 

Now, thar's another thing worries me; 
No place to keep 'em but the pantry, ye see. 
Wife, she does threaten to throw 'em right out. 
They are a bother lyin' about, 
Ruther introodin' on pies and such. 
I shouldn't blame her, I reckin, so much! 
136 



I can't sell 'em, that 'ud be wrong; 
And r can't keep 'em thar very long; 
I can't read 'em, tenth part, m3^self, 
i\nd wife won't hev 'em on her pie shelf! 
I can't lend 'em ter be torn ter pieces — 
I've got a notion! Thar is my nieces, 

Jest out ov College, comin' in July 
Ter make us a visit, eddicated high. 
Now I'm a thinkin', gals so advanced 
Would like my lib^rry. Now is my chance 
Ter clear out my mind and my pantr}', I vum! 
Ter own a lib^^rrv haint much fun! 



MUSICAL FESTIVALS. 



I have ben to one of them things, 
And it's somethin' like havin' a pair of wings, 
Or settin' at table with dooks and kings. 
When an or>^£jtry talks and sings 

And jokes, so to speak. 

It lasted a week. 

I alius did think a Festival meant 
Eatin' and drinkin', a regular stent, — 
Strawb'ries and cream, p'raj^s under a tent. 
With lemonade thrown in. Where I went 

To the Hall last week, 

Wan't nothin' to eat. 
137 



P'irst, there's rehearsal, at nine or half-past; 
Jest like a concert, only they last 
Three or four hours in the place of two. 
And you haint got enough when rehearsal is 
through, 

Ye'd be glad to continner, 
Ye don't care for dinner. 

Ye aint considerin' common things 
When ye've invested 'n a pair of wings; 
When ye can look straight up through the sky, 
And sight the angels a passin' by, 

There ain't much thinkin' 

'Bout eatin' and drinkin'. 

Ye aint so much mortal ??iaji as a bird. 
Eatin' is lowerin', so I have heard. 
And Festival week, it is true every word, 
Codfish and music together 's absurd. 

There aint no question, 

It's bad for digestion. 

Concert at three in the afternoon. 

If ye're much on style, don't git there too soon, 

Fashionable folks prefer to sail in. 

Five minutes ai'fter the fiddles begin,— 

With considdable fuss. 

They sot front of us. 

Three young women of that persuasion — 
Somebody called 'em an "aggravation"; 
I call 'cm geese. They sung "Damnation" 
138 



Wednesday night and it beat all creation, 
The noise it made, 
I was really afraid 

To look behind me for fear of a witch. 

And that lighted Hall seemed blacker than 

pitch, 
And horses a gallopin", goblins and sich 
A flyin' or runnin', I don't know which, — 
All din and commotion 
And crash and explosion. 

Bob, he told me by way of preface 
Them bosses was travelling straight to the place 
Folks don't name eveiy day. Understand? 
Reckin Hob knew the lay of the land — 

And the chorus jined in 

To the gineral din. 

The chorus sot up on shelves, so to speak, 
(Reckin' they stay where they're put for the 

week,) 
Men and women with books in their hands. 
And usin' their voices like they were brass 
bands. 

So loud ye couldn't hear 'em 
If ye sot very near 'em. 

The men and the maidens they sot apart — 
A sensible thing, I said at the start — 
Some on 'em young, and some on 'em older 
139 



Singin' as hearty shoulder to shoulder, 
Each for himself 
Way back on the shelf. 

That "Damnation of Faust" held on 
Till the hull of the evenin' was fairly gone. 
The woman that sings alone, Margerite, 
She had a voice everlastin'ly sweet, 

And clear as a brook. 

I was mightily took 

With Faust, the feller that's tired of livin'. 

I guess there aint nothin' but ye can forgive 

him ; 
When a man sings like a nightingale flyin' 
A girl is apt to imagine that dyin' 

For him would be sweet. 

That poor Margerite! 

The other man with the longish name, — 
Fistofalus, or somethin' the same — 
Pm sorry the feller that writ up the thing 
Ever thought of bringin' him in. 

'Twas all his doin,' 

Faust's ridin' to — ruin. 

Margerite sung, as near's I could learn, 

'Till she was plum tired, and Faust took his 

turn. 
Fistofalus had his say afore long. 
And then the chorus took up the song; 
140 



And no debatin' 
Or fussin' or waitin'. 

They had an or/^tji-try of sixty or so, 
Fiddles and horns in a circnlar row, 
And floots that sung up as high as birds. 
Yes! and a harp that dropped into words 

A flowin' and flowin'; 

And the orgin a goin'. 

And only oiie man at the head of it all. 
Mighty grand lookln' and big and tall 
With a smile he keeps putty well out of sight 
Except when the folks on the shelves sing just 
right 

Or the ori-^i-try strike in 

Exact to his likin'. 

A word from him seems to mean a great deal, 
Brightens 'em up like a good, square meal 
When ye are hungry. It don't matter much 
If a man like that speaks Latin or Dutch 

Or heathen Chinee. 

It's easy to see 

A man like him was made to stand high 
And measure out time for the rest to go by. . . 
"Damnation of Faust" was I talkin' about? 
Wish I had time to talk myself out 

Concernin' the same. 

But when it came 
141 



To Faust and Fistofalus ridin' to^death, 
My hair stood up and I held my breath ; 
My arms and legs got up such a shakin' 
My cheer creaked under me 's if it was breakin,' 

My cuffs got unpinned, 

I got short of wind — 

Wall, I shall talk ye to death and— "Damnation" 
Beat all the rest in my calculation. 
"Elijah" 'nd "Arminius," they was complete. 
But I couldn't forgit Faust and that poor 
Margerite 

If I lived to see 

A century. 

Yes, I have ben to one of the things. 
The week is gone and I've lost my wings. 
But I'm goin' agin when the year gits round 
If I am a livin' above the ground, 

And am able to crawl 

To that Festival Hall. 

A Musical Festival's a big institution. 
Some people say it is jest a delusion 
And snare for throwin' your money away. 
Music is — music, whatever they say ! 

And I'm thankful this minute 

That I could be in it. 



Music is shinin' and meltin', like fire. 
Igb 

i42 



Music lifts the soul higher and higher. 



I'm an honest man, though I say it myself; 
But Fd like to set up on a higher shelf ^ 
And sing strong and true 
With the Master in view. 



HEARTS AND DIAMONDS. 



I carried a letter to Diamond Day 

Who owns the white cottage over the way. 

She blushed as she took it — and that pleased 

me ill — 
And smelt of the roses abloom on the sill. 

"A mighty long letter," I said in dismay. 
"Whatever is in it, sweet Diamond Day?" 
She spoke, "It's my brother that writes mc 

from Delf. 
Whatever is in it? Why, read it yourself!" 

She laughed. I continued — "Your heart 's ever 

gay. 

Whatever is in it, sw^eet Diamond Day." 
She answered me, smelling the rose on its shelf — 
Whatever is in it? Why, read it yourself !" 

She laughed, and I kissed her. Then turning 
away — 

"If you had no cottage, dear Diamond Day, 

I'd marry you." — "Would you?" From the 
rose on the shelf 

She turned, and said shyly, "Then own it your- 
self!" 

143 






PROFIT AND LOSS. 



Gen. Doon was a man of renown, 
Kept his own house in Somerset town ; 
And kept his own secrets, I'll be bo md. 
The buttons were off of his dressing-gown, 
The shingles w< re off of his tumble-down, 
Shutterle.>^s house — but he was no clown. 

In the little brown cottage were books and books. 
In corners and cup'ooards, in niches and nooks, 
Dust}^ and old in their outside looks ; 
Ponderous, high and dry within, 
From where they end to where they begin — 
History, mainly, with Scott thrown in. 

Gen. Doon 'dvcpt books,"" as \ou see. 

And hens — to the number of forty-three — 

Seven of them white as the Polar Sea, 

And named for the great and the wise (who 

are not,) — 
Hume and Macaulay and Ilallam and Scott, 
Gibbon and Grote and \"oltaire were the lot. 

Gen. Doon was far from rich. 
You see, his finances would get m a "hitch," 
Just as his chickens would fall in the ditch, 
(And cripple their dignity 'nd have to he fried) — 
Ah! many a hen, and human, has died 
Of nothing more than mortified pride! 
144 



Now Gen. Doon had a pension soft. 
Besides his pension he had — a bad cough, 
That threatened indeed to carry him off — 
From hens and historians both some day. 
Moreover, he had a taking way; 
I mean, he took snuff, as a cow takes hay. 

The General's manners were all well enough. 
Except that of wiping his nose on his cuff. 
One evening came over old Harrison Duff — 
"General, I've ben a tryin' to git 
A dozen white fowls. I hain't got 'em vit. 
Supposin' we two talk it over a bit. 

" Dunno' as I keer a red cent 'bout the breed. 
But yours is as white as ever I seed. 
And wife's tuk a fancy to white ones. Indeed, 
She's full ov her fancies as she kin well hold. 
I told her your hist'ry hens warn't to be sold, 
Any more than yer books or ver gold. 

"But she insisted, and so I come. 

I heerd a toon once, 'No place like hum.' 

He hit the nail on the head, I vum! 

The feller that writ the words to that toon. 

Hum ? Mine's as hot as a garret in June 

But women mean wall as the men, I presoom.' 

Said Gen. Doon with a serious face! 
" Party high strung, the historical race! 
1 couldn't possibly fill thar place. 
MS 



Sort ov models they be for the rest, 

In morals and manners and doin' thar best. 

Hens would miss 'em like all possessed! 

" Hume's sort ov laz}-, and don't lay well, 
But a mighty fine creetur to keep or to sell.* 
Gibbon's ben stealin' her nest a spell — 
Mighty proud hens, and likely as not. 
Whatever I say — them hens is that sot — 
They won't leave. They're an obstinate lot." 

At last the bargain was sealed — with snuff — 
While Gen, Doon wiped his nose on his cuff. 
And then sealed again with a "taste ov the stuff." 
Twelve yellow hens were to pay for the white. 
For Doon was for "doin' things legal and right." 

Harrison Duff departed straightway. 
And the General went in his w^onted way, 
To shut up his hens with the close of the day. 
The seven w^iite hens he briefly addressed, 
Assuring them all would turn out for the best 
If true to themselves. Then he went to his rest. 

The morrow was wet but with it Duff came ; 
His dozen hens with him, I ought to explain. 
General Doon w^ent out in the rain 
To look for the seven. They were not with the 

rest, 
" vSort ov consarned," the General guessed, 
"At bein' turned out ov the old home nest." 
14^ 



Doon and Duff looked high and looked low, 

Every place where a hen could go 

Walk or flutter or fly or blow, 

(For the wind kept company now with the rain) 

He shouted and called each one by his name — 

"Gibbon!" "Macaulay!" but none of them came. 

"Hallam !" he called, "yer judgment is best, 
Hallam, ye whig, come on with the rest! 
Why, it is rainin' like all possessed! 
Grote is the youngest, he'll get a chill. 
And I dun no but the hull on 'em will. 
Whar kin they be, so onnateral still?" 

The General wiped his red nose on his cuff. 

"Voltaire was con/r«ry, ov course. Neighbor Duff; 

Made of considerable obstinate stuff. 

I'm sartin that him is the one is to blame, 

A keepin' us out in this miser'ble rain — > 

None of Scott's doin's, that's purty plain." 

Said Duff, "By the time your seven is found. 
They won't quite equil my dozen, I'm bound! 
When a bird ain't either in air or on ground, 
Whar kin ye look for 'em? That beats me! 
Strangest thing that ever I see, 
Whar in the world them pesky things be!" 

fThe rain it fell and the wind it blew, 
The fields and the meadows were both searched 
through, 

147 



But never a white hen came into view. 
The General shouted at clamorous pitch,— 
"Ev'ry one ov the seven is a witch, 
Or we would hev found 'em. I'll look in .the 
ditch." 

They looked .... What orrief in the General's 

eyes, 
Marvelous pity and dread and surprise! 
What a mysterious tragedy lies 
Here at his feet! Where the ditch was most deep. 
There they lay stretched in their last long sleep. 
The seven white hens — in a circle complete. 

"Case ov suicide, that's plain enough!' 
vSaid General Doon to Harrison Duff, 
Wiping his nose on the edge of his cuff. 
"Fond ov thar home, and devoted to me. 
They must have decided that death would be 
Better than leavin'. Drownded, ye see! 

"Historical hens, they know a sight. 
They prided themselves on bein' so white. 
And a knowiii' what's proper and jest and right! 
They couldn't endure my swappin' 'em so, 
P^or yer yeller hens uncultured and slow — 
Reckin it were an unmarciful blow. 

"Historical hens, they know which is which. ' 
Thar ain't any other spot in the ditch 
With water enough to gfive 'em a niche 



To put an end to tharselves. I declar'! 
Them fowls ov yours have done it up squar', 
A baro^ain's a barsfain, and ours was all fa'r! 



"Thar Is yer hens, Mr. Harrison Duff! 
Yes, I calculate that's plain enough!" 
Wiping his nose on the edge of his cuff, 
"The bargain we've made on yesterday night. 
I am a man that does what is right. 
And so I won't charge ye — ye know that I 
miofht — 



t>' 



"For keepin' 'em over ontil to-day. 
Some men would do it, but that aint my way! 
A bargain's a bargain, that's what I say. 
Thar is yer hens, a fine lookin' lot — 
Macaulay, Voltaire, Grote, Hallam and Scott, 
Gibbon and Hume — They u'cr(\ and are not.'''' 

Harrison Duff looked up and looked down 
Then grappled the folds of that long dressing-gown 
And the man inside it, that man of renown. . . 
The two closed together. As stitch follows stitch, 
They rolled and they staggered hitch upon hitch. 
Till they joined the historians down in the ditch. 



:o:- 



DECIMALS. 



I'll tell you the story of Barnaby Rye, 
Village of Wheaton and County of Sk^^e, 
Jolly old farmer of fifty and rising. 
149 



Widower, too, which was rather surprising, 
Considering widows were plenty about. 
Yes, he was thrifty and hearty and stout, 
A jolly old fellow out and out. 

A troublesome habit he had, it is true. 

Else I should have no story for you. 

Barnaby Rye's bad habit was betting 
Against himself, and it gave him— a wetting. 

And also a bride. And now to begin 

And spin the yarn that I'm thinking to spin. 

The habit of betting is plainly a sin. 

A fine, fresh morning in late July, 
He was out with his scythe, was Barnaby Rye. 
Listen ! for he had rather a passion 
For thinking aloud in illogical fashion — 
"Now thar is plenty ov hornets close to 
Whar I am a mowin', but I'll bet you 
A ten ce/it piece I kin mow right through ! 

"Barnaby Rye, that's a fa'ar bet! 
Better take it and keep yer mouth shet. 

Ten cent pieces don't grow in the grasses 
Every day for a feller that passes. 
Bet ye a dinner, Barnaby Rye, 
I kin mow so fast I kin skim clean by 
Afore them hornets kin open an eye!" 

The bet was taken, tis needless to say. 
But never had army more perilous way 
150 



Cross rivers and mountains than he of our 

story. 
The hornets came out^ and the battle was 
gory, 
But he vowed he would win that wager or die. 
He mowed his way through them, and they in 

reply 
Mowed through the skin of Barnaby Rye. 

The story leaked out, of this hand-to-hand fray. 

But he has never been sure to this day, 

Whether he told or a humorous hornet. 

Or which of 'em handled the ten cents on it. 

There were scars on his face till the summer 
went by. 

That is one story of Barnaby R3'e 

Every one knows in the County of Skye. 

Again. The farmer had rather a way 
Of giving his hay cart two stories of hay 

From the field to the barn when in a great 
hurry. 

All his huge farm horse could possibly carry. 
His neighbors declared it was risking his.neck, 
To perch himself 'way on that high upper-deck. 
So near to the clouds that he looked like a speck. 

But Barnaby Rye laughed always and said. 
He'd a true eye in a pretty cool head. 

His wagon of hay grew bigger and bigger, 
One day in September he reached the top 
"figger." 

151 



One Saturday noon when he feared that he might 
Fail to get all his hay in before night, 
His load in the field was really a sight, 

He perched on the top like a mouse on a shelf, 
And drove for the barn, ta king thus to himself — 
"Barnaby Rye, I'll bet ye a dollar 
I kin ride under whar nobody '11 f oiler! 
Bet ye a dollar United States ' tin,' 
The barn door yonder will jest let me in. 
With only an inch to spa'ar over my chin!" 

The wager was taken, 'tis vain to repeat. 

And Rye smacked his lips as expecting a treat. 

"Bet ye a dollar, I'll come out a flyin'! 

Ye've got a purty true eye, no dcnyin'!" 
Straight up to the barn. lie lowered his chin. 
And flattened himself with a chuckle and grin, 
A good, stout pull, and the team was in. 

But where, oh! where was Barnaby Rye? 
Down in the yard with his face to the sky. 
Hay in his beard and stars in his eye, 

All the hens of the barn-yard around him. 

Barnaby thought it w^as rather astounding, 
But picked himself up according to rule — 
"Lost yer dollar, old Rye, like a fool!" 

The jolly old farmer laid by for a week. 
And then came out as ruddy of cheek 
As before, finished haying with due 
moderation, 

152 



And then jogged off for a week's 
recreation, — 
Otherwise fishing — ere Autumn set in, 
To the next County where fishers were thin, 
And fish were as thick as the pores of the skin. 

Now Barnaby Rye was a fisherman born, 
Liked fishing better than hoeing his corn 

Or mowing through hornets — and things of 
that fashion ; 

Fishing, indeed, was the farmer's one passion. 
Anghng alone 'mong the hills one day, 
He came to a "branch" that disputed his way. 
And the joll}^ old fellow went on to say — 

"Rye, ye used to be spry as a cat. 

Bet ye a fifty ye'll jump across that! 

Why, ye kin do it as easy as smilln'I 
Right down below is some fish jest a spilin' 

For want of a man and a rod and a line. 

Now ye shall see some jumpin' that's fine I 

Bet ye a fifty, ye'll come to time!" 

That "branch" was deeper than Rye was aware, 
Over his head and something to spare. 

If the "branch" was deeper, the man was 

hotter; 
He jumped, not across, but into the water. 
Over his head it closed swift and slv, 
Filled him and choked him. What! must he die? 
For he was no swimmer, poor Barnaby Rye. 
153 



Then there were moments that seemed Hke days, 

Barnaby's senses were all in a maze. 

He opened his eyes at last with a shiver, 
Surprised that he had not gone down in the 
river 

"Lost your fifty, old Barnaby Rye!" 

He said with a wink of his right-hand eye. 

Then such a blush on his forehead — and why? 

Raising his hand to his head for his cap. 
He found that same head lay in somebody's lap, 
A woman's, in short, quite youngish and 

charming. 
The farmer's heart beat in a manner alarming. 
Lifting his head at this miracle found, — 
"Madam, I'll bet ye a hundred, cash down, 
That ye are the harnsomest woman in town!" 

The answering blush in her face stirred his heart? 
And up he arose with a tremulous start, 

And giving his hand in most courteous fash- 
ion, 

"Farmin' 's my trade, and fishin' 's my passion. 
I am Barnaby Rye of the County of Skye. 
May I see ye to-morrow, when I am more dry} 
I am at vour service right on till I die!" 

To shorten my tale. In the cool Autumn weather. 
She and the farmer went fishing together. 
Faith was her name, her father a miller 
With plenty of grist but less of the "siller." 
154 



Little it mattered to Barnaby Rye, 

Who knew that she had a pure heart, a bright 

eye,— 
He tendered his hand as the days went by. 

"Faith," he addressed her, "ye saved me from 
death. 

I give ye my Hfe in return, ev'ry breath! 
I'll bet ye a thousand ye'll be my wife 
Afore a month has gone out of your life!" 

She answered, "O, Barnaby ! betting is sin. 

Promise me, now, ye won't do it agin. 

Ye may not come out the next time ye fall in!" 

Said Barnaby, "Faith, there aint any harm 
A bettin' a leetle right here on the farm ; 
But not in the hayin', for "hornets" is stirrin', 
And "branches" and "barn doors" is equally 

spurrin'. 
We'll have a weddin' when harvestin' 's done 
That '11 open the eyes of the neighbors somel 
Bet ye a million them widders '11 come!" 



HYACINTHS. 



Somebody tolt ye the story ^ 

Parson? Wall, that beats me! 
Why, nobody never knowed it 

But Hyacinth, no sir-ree ! 
'Twan't my story, depend on't, 
155 



Parson, ye happeii't ter hear. 
But ye're kind ov a close-mouthed feller, 
I'll tell it, if ye don't keer! ^ 

Ye'll find when ye git ter be seventy, 

Parson, a power ov words 
That didn't stand by ye 'n yer twenties; 

Jest as the nightingale birds — 
So Pve heerd — sing in the evenin'. 

When I wan't older 'n yew, 
I talked on the crops and the weather. 

Parson, and then I were througii. 

But Hyacinth, she onderstood me 
At fust, and fer many a year. 

And if I tooned up or were silent, 

'T were all the same ter my dear. 

Ye see, I tuk arter the Joneses — 

And none ov them never crowed — 

I were serious like and sober. 

Didn't blab all that I knowcd. 

Hyacinth, she onderstood me. 

And give her promise ter me, 
A ginooine note-ov-hand. Parson, 

Ter be paid on demand, do ye see.^ 
Pd got ter be sort ov fore-handed. 

As every farmer must 
Jest ter keep from bein' a drownded 

In debts. But I hadn't got the "dust." 
156 



And so we waited and waited, 

Parson, fer matters ter mend. 
How should I 'low her affection 

Fer me was a goin' ter end? 
How should I think ov her changin'. 

Parson? 'Twan't likely I should. 
Some ov the farmers raked money 

In faster, but she onderstood. 

Hyacinth knowed how I loved her. 

And love is more shiny than gold. 
I knowed it 'way down in my twenties, 

And now I am seventy years old, 
I know it is true as the gospel. 

The years went along, eight or nine,- 
I counted my medders and corn-fields, 

And my heart kej)' purty fast time. 

Now I could claim my darlin'. 

Now I could hev my own! 
Folks that are quiet, Parson, 

From bein' so much alone, 
Somehow they aint comprehended 

By noisier folks, do ye think? 
And a cow aint alius so patient 

Jest as she's goin' ter drink. 

That were jest me. I had waited 

Fer Hyacinth many a year. 
I wonder if I were impatient 

When I spoke up ter my dear — 

157 



•'Hyacinth, I hev ben over 

My medders and orchards and stock. 
We will be married on Sunday, 
Darlin', at ten by the clock." 

Her cheeks was regular peach-blows. 

Jest then they turned sorter pale. 
Oh, she were a beauty. Parson! 

But her words, they beat like hail! 
" I'd made up my mind to tell ye, 

Sam, let's jest call it ' through'; 
Yew aint so much ov a man, dear. 

As I expected ov you. 

" Charles is a merchant in Boston, 
Every one's heard ov him! 

Will was cut out for a lawyer. 
He is in Baltimore. Jim, 

Jim has written a novel — 

But, Sam, now don't look so ' down, ' 
Yew are so quiet! Why, no one 

Knows ye outside ov the town!" 

What could I say to that. Parson? 

What was thar ter be said.? 
" Not the man she expected " 

Run on like a wheel in my head. 
Yes, I knowed I were quiet. 

Never made any stir, 
158 



But I 'lowed she ouderstood me; 
I 'lowed I onderstood her. 



Parson, that's all ov the story. 

Hyacinth married — and died — 
Married a man that cheated 

Me out ov my farm, and lied. 
And got his name in the papers, 

(A curious sort ov renown) 
And went ter prison. Her husband 
Was knoxv7i outside ov the town. 



And I am as quiet as ever. 

Parson, and seventy year old. 
Never had \vife or young 'uns, 

Sort ov left out in the cold. 
Not jest the man I expected, 

Parson, myself, ter be. 
'Twan't likely I should be without her, 

She''d\\^\ made suthin ov me. 

Parson^ it stands ter reason, 

A man's harf a man left alone. — 
Do ye think I kin claim my darlin'? 

Up thar kin I have my own? 
Bein' as yev/ air a parson, 

Aint yew expected to know;' 
Hyacinth, she'll onderstand me 

Better'n she did below. 
159 



Jail-birds aint entered up yonder. 

St. Peter wouldn't let him in, 
Yes, that is Hyacinth's daughter. 

She is my " next ov kin." 
She'll git my medders and corn-fields. 

When I am " out " she'll be " in '^ 
Pray Jer me /' O, if ye're a mind ter, 

Or wait till ve come a«-m. 



-:o: 



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